


Lie at the Catch

by Jen Hall (Greenlady)



Category: Starsky & Hutch
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-11
Updated: 2010-10-11
Packaged: 2017-10-12 14:28:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/125839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Greenlady/pseuds/Jen%20Hall





	Lie at the Catch

Lie at the Catch

 

********************************

Talkative: You lie at the catch, I perceive. Faithful: No, not I; I am only for setting things right. -- John Bunyan, Pilgrims Progress, chapter 19.

The telling of lies is a sort of sleight of hand that displays our deepest feelings about life -- John Cheever, in an interview.

 

********************************

David Starsky bounded in through Ken Hutchinson's front door, with deliberately energetic effect. 'Hutch?,' he called. 'Come on, Hutch. I don't wanna be late for my first day back.'

Someone tall and cool and blonde, and only half dressed, exited from Hutch's bedroom. 'Hi,' she said. 'Ken is in the shower, but he'll be out soon.'

Starsky smiled politely. 'Good,' he said. He marched into the kitchen and opened the fridge. Cold pizza. That would settle his stomach.

'You don't like me much, do you?' said Angie, from the kitchen doorway.

'Like you, Angie? Haven't had the time to form an opinion. I've been busy. Besides, it's Ken's opinion matters, isn't it?'

Angie shrugged. 'I suppose,' she said. 'But we'll be seeing a lot of each other, from now on.'

'Great!' said Starsky. 'Can't wait. Hutch! We gotta go. I'll be waiting out in the car.'

'Okay,' Hutch shouted from the bathroom. 'Be right there.'

'Bye,' said Angie.

'Yeah,' said Starsky.

He sat in the Torino, munching on pizza, fiddling with the dash, changing radio stations. Checking the contents of the glove compartment for the twentieth time. This was the day he'd been living for, longing for, for months. He wasn't going to let anything spoil it. He checked his Baretta. It was best to be prepared, even though it was unlikely they'd be out on the streets their first day back together. You never knew. The gun's action calmed him. He was Hutch's partner. Angie was a temporary infatuation, like most of Hutch's women.

The car door opened. 'Hey!' said Hutch, sliding into the passenger seat. 'Sorry I wasn't ready, but I didn't expect you so early. We've got plenty of time.'

'I know. Sorry to break up your morning amours. I just can't wait to get back to work, you know?'

'I know. And you didn't break up anything. I was getting dressed. Here. Got you a doughnut.'

'Aw. You shouldn't have. Thanks, Hutch. Feel like a real cop again.'

'That's nothing. Wait to you drink the coffee at the station.'

Wait to we get back out on the street chasing the bad guys, thought Starsky. It's been too long. Way too long. The empty place inside him seemed out of all proportion to its cause. It's only a job, he told himself, frequently and to little effect.

Metro was its usual bustling hive of activity. Some of the other detectives waved to him, and called greetings. Others seemed too busy to notice. But that was all for the best. Starsky wanted his life back to normal, and the best way to do that, was to behave as if it already were.

Captain Dobey poked his head out his office door. 'Ah. Sergeant Starsky,' he said, with unusual formality. 'I need a word with you.'

Starsky headed for the office, Hutch following.

'No, not you, Hutchinson,' Dobey protested. 'We want to talk to your partner alone for now.'

Hutch shrugged. He went to make fresh coffee.

Captain Dobey's office seemed a bit crowded for so early in the morning. The crowdees were wearing suits. Starsky felt lop-sided and awkward without his partner. Was this the reason for excluding him, he wondered? He strutted up to the seat by Dobey's desk, as if it belonged to him, and straddled it backwards, leaning his arms across the back.

'Hi,' he said.

Captain Dobey made the introductions. 'Special Agent Carruthers. Special Agent Wyman. Detective Starsky.'

'Good morning, Detective,' said Special Agent Carruthers. He was a middle-aged Black man. Tall and impressive. He had an English accent.

Starsky nodded. 'Morning,' he added. Well, he thought. We're unusually polite considering it's the Feds involved. Wonder how long that's gonna last? He decided to test the waters.

'What's up, gentlemen?' he asked.

'We're here to ask for your assistance in a federal matter,' Agent Carruthers answered.

Ah. That explains why you're so grave, thought Starsky. It must be difficult to ask help from us ordinary cops.

'We think there's a serial killer operating in Bay City,' Special Agent Wyman went on. He was White, red-haired and spoke with a Southern drawl.

'You think?' asked Starsky.

There was a long moment of silence. Agent Carruthers got to his feet, and went into lecture mode.

'Have you heard of the Behavioral Sciences Unit of the FBI?' he asked.

Starsky nodded.

'Good. We've been in operation for several years now, quite successfully. We only become involved if we're invited, or if it's a federal jurisdiction. That's not the case here, actually. I was gifted with some information, privately, and decided to make enquiries on my own. Two years ago, three gay men in San Francisco were murdered, in a particularly brutal fashion. Over the course of the investigation, a number of links between the victims were established. They had friends in common, patronized the same gay bars -- and they all were patients of the same psychiatrist.'

'Ah,' said Starsky.

'Yes. You see, it's not unusual for gay men to know each other, or to hang around in the same parts of town. But the last link seemed more telling. The doctor was interviewed. He appeared fittingly disturbed at the news that his patients had been murdered. He pointed out however, that it was not an unusual end for the homosexual. He said that the homosexual lifestyle was a violent one, and he had been trying to cure the men in question. But it was too late.'

'How sympathetic of him,' said Starsky.

'Yes. The detective who interviewed him commented that he seemed cold and distant.'

'But that's not unusual for psychiatrists,' said Starsky.

Agent Carruthers' lips twitched. 'Quite,' he said. 'To continue the tale...'

'Wait!' said Starsky. 'Allow me. The doctor moved to Bay City, and one of his new patients has been murdered.'

'However did you guess?' asked Agent Wyman.

'Pure luck,' said Starsky. 'Wouldn't that be pretty damning evidence, though? At least enough to haul him in for more questioning?'

'The doctor had good alibis for the times of all the other murders, detective,' Carruthers informed him. 'I'd bet my life savings he has an alibi for this one. And we'll have tipped our hand.'

'So, you want my partner and me to go undercover? As homosexuals?' Starsky shrugged. 'We've done it before.'

'Not exactly, Detective,' said Carruthers. 'We'd like you to become one of Dr. Cragg's patients. Don't tell him you're gay right off. You were almost killed in the line of duty last year, were you not? You could say you are still experiencing trauma, and don't want the department to know. Then, when you've gained his trust, you can give the real reason for the consultation.'

'Why tell him I'm a cop at all?' asked Starsky.

'He's been under investigation once,' said Agent Wyman. 'And he's not stupid. Psychiatrists are trained to sniff out the truth. They're detectives too, in their own way. But, if you go in as a police officer from the first....'

'Gotcha,' said Starsky. 'But listen, before I give my answer, I want my partner involved. We work together.'

'Fair enough,' said Carruthers.

Captain Dobey got to his feet, and went to the door to call Hutch in.

Hutch's eyes met Starsky's from across the room. He came and leaned against the wall beside him. Their legs touched, lightly, Starsky's knee against Hutch's thigh.

Agent Carruthers went into his lecture mode again, patiently. Half way through, Hutch exploded.

'No!' he said. 'My partner nearly died last year. He's just back on duty. And you want him hunting a serial killer? Alone?'

'Hutch. Come on,' Starsky protested. 'I'm not helpless. We've hunted dangerous killers before.'

'Yeah. We have. We, Starsky. Not you alone. Not like this. Someone has murdered a number of this doctor's patients.'

'Yeah, Hutch. And I'll be on my guard.'

'It could be anyone, Starsk. We don't know for sure it's the doctor. It could be an employee, another patient, a colleague, a relative. Anyone. It's too much to ask you to do this without someone to watch your back.'

'Wait, wait.' Agent Wyman got to his feet and strode up and down, thinking. 'I've got it,' he said. 'Detective Starsky, you've been unwell. You're under a lot of stress. You move in with your partner, for the company. Then you develop feelings for him.'

'Oh, yeah?' asked Starsky.

Hutch laughed. 'Try to restrain your enthusiasm, Starsk. This sounds like a better plan,' he went on. 'You'll make a good detective some day, Agent.'

'Thanks,' said Agent Wyman. 'You're too kind.'

'So. Is it settled?' asked Carruthers.

'Sure,' said Starsky. 'If it's okay with my partner.'

Hutch shrugged. 'As long as I'm kept in the loop, it's okay with me,' he said.

'We'll keep you in the loop, Hutch,' said Captain Dobey.

*************

'What are we gonna tell Angie?'

Starsky opened his mouth to answer, then shut it again quickly, because he wasn't sure what would come out. They were on their way to work, and Starsky drove in silence for a while, thinking. 'Just blame it all on me,' he offered, at last. 'You don't have to pretend you like it. In fact, it's better if you don't. Say it's for the good of the department, or something, and it's all temporary.' Like Angie, he added to himself.

Hutch nodded, absently. He was reading over his notes on a case he was wrapping up, and seemed to have forgotten his original question.

Starsky was more than ready to forget about Angie. 'You want I should move in with ya tonight?' he asked, in his strongest New York accent.

'Mmm? Oh, sure. Why not? Give me a hand with my cases, and writing up the reports. I'll help you move in.'

'Sure,' said Starsky, lightly. It was a bit unusual for Hutch to say anything so obvious. Of course they'd help each other. It was the only thing that made life worth living, at times. Good to be back on equal terms there, too.

'Hey,' he added. 'I'll pick up some of the food I like. And do my own share of the housekeeping, of course.'

'Of course,' said Hutch. He gave Starsky a look, that informed him he was making obvious comments of his own. It made Starsky smile.

**************

'We're experienced detectives, Agent Wyman. We've both seen some pretty gruesome sights. But this....' Hutch waved his hand above one of the crime scene photos, as if attempting to disperse a bad smell. 'Jesus God! What did he use on this one? A can opener?'

'Our crime labs couldn't determine the exact nature of the instrument,' said Agent Wyman.

Hutch looked up from the photos. His pale blue eyes regarded the FBI agent with the expression of icy precision he might have used upon an infestation of mites playing house on one of his precious plants. 'If he comes near my partner with any instrument, your crime labs will need forceps to find it for their future determinations,' he said. 'Whatever its nature.'

'I'll make a note of that,' said Wyman, with an easy smile.

'When do you want me to call Dr. Cragg's office?' Starsky asked.

'Hmm. You started work yesterday. You move in with Detective Hutchinson tonight, am I right?'

'Right so far,' said Starsky.

'Give it two days. You're feeling a lot of stress from being back on the job. Nightmares. Cold sweats.'

'The hots for my partner? When's that start?'

'Whenever you like,' Agent Wyman said, generously.

'The sooner the better,' said Starsky.

'I'm gonna get some fresh coffee,' said Hutch. He ambled out of Dobey's office, mug in hand, ignoring the captain's coffee pot right in front of him.

'Is this going to cause problems with your partner?' asked the agent.

'Problems? Me and Hutch? Nah. Why should it? Don't give it another thought.'

'Okay. I'm not trying to buy trouble, Detective. Just trying to keep this mission going smoothly.'

'Hutch knows what he's doing,' said Starsky. 'Don't worry about him.'

Hutch came back into the room, sipping coffee. Smiling easily. He sat on the arm of Starsky's chair. 'Helping you get in the mood,' he said.

They all laughed, a little.

'Told ya,' said Starsky.

Agent Wyman nodded. He passed them more reports. 'Captain Dobey told us you were his best team,' he said.

Starsky felt a great rush of pride. They were back to being a team. Now to start the real hunt.

****************

The next two days were tense, but they passed by with relative speed. Winding up Hutch's solo cases. Writing reports. Reading everything the G-Men threw at them. Getting settled in to Hutch's apartment.

Hutch insisted on taking the couch. Starsky argued the point vociferously.

'It's your bed, Hutch. I'm sleeping on the couch.'

'You need a decent night's sleep, Starsk. I know you're supposed to be fully recovered, but....'

'Whad'ya mean, supposed to be? Of course I recovered, or I wouldn't be back to work. Besides, I'm tossing and turning. Nightmares, remember? Lusting after your bod?'

'Lust away,' said Hutch. He got to his feet and stretched, like a big, golden cat. He leaned over Starsky, and purred, 'You can lust over me from there.' He pointed over his own shoulder, back toward the bedroom. 'I'm sleeping on the couch, until this case is over.'

'The case hasn't even begun, Hutchinson. Cragg doesn't know me from Adam. Or Eve, for that matter. Even if he is the murderer -- which we don't know for certain.'

'Technicalities,' said Hutch, dismissively. 'You practise your bod lusting. I'll practise my bodyguarding.'

'Don't practise it too hard. I'm supposed to be the bait. Remember?'

'Believe me, I haven't forgotten,' said Hutch.

*****************

'Hello? I'd like to make an appointment with Dr. Cragg? As soon as possible?'

Hutch grinned at him across the table, and gave him a thumbs up. Starsky had been practising his tone of voice for the last few days. Anxiety, but a firm determination to overcome it.

'Two weeks from now?' Starsky heard the unfeigned horror in his own voice. 'That's a long time to wait. Listen, this is important. Dr. Cragg came highly recommended by a good friend of mine. I'm not sure if I should give his name. I'm at work, and someone might overhear. Okay. I'll wait.'

He covered the mouthpiece carefully. 'She's going to talk to the Boss Man himself,' he murmured to Hutch. 'Hello? Tomorrow afternoon? That's so much better. Thank you. I'll be there. Bye.'

He put down the receiver. 'Three PM,' he told Hutch.

'I'll follow you, and I'll wait across the street,' said his partner.

'You sure you don't wanna come right in and hold my hand?' Starsky retorted.

'Nah,' said Hutch. 'Our love is supposed to be unreciprocated.'

'That mean you don't love me back?'

Hutch snorted. 'How could I?' he asked. 'You snore.'

************

'Hey! I had nothing to do with Ray's death. I told you that.'

'We believe you, Mr. Morrison.'

'Then why am I here? Not just here at the station, but here? In an interview room? If I'm not a suspect? Should I have asked for my lawyer? But, no. That would make me look guilty, wouldn't it?'

'You are not a suspect, Mr. Morrison. You may have your lawyer present, if you wish.'

'Captain Dobey. I... I don't actually have a lawyer. I can't afford one. Unless I'm about to be charged with something.'

'Mr. Morrison, you're not charged with anything,' Captain Dobey insisted. 'We only want to talk to you about Ray. This isn't a formal interview, it's merely a conversation.'

'But....'

'Mr. Morrison. My name is Agent Carruthers,' the Special Agent broke in. 'My partner, Agent Wyman, and I are with a special unit of the FBI. Your friend, Ray Swope, was a murder victim. We need to know more about his life. It will help us in our investigation.'

'Why? How? You're with the FBI? You don't investigate isolated murders, do you? I know something about that. Is this some sort of special case?'

'It could be. We're working on it, and we need your help. How did Ray behave? I mean, was he effeminate in any way?'

'What does that matter? Everyone thinks homosexuals ask for it. They're so disgusting....'

Starsky turned to Hutch, and shook his head.

'Let me try,' Hutch suggested.

Starsky smiled. 'Go for it,' he said.

Hutch left the observation room, and knocked at the door of the interview room. Dobey opened the door. Morrison was still ranting about stereotypes.

'Mr. Morrison!'

The man turned, startled and angry. Hutch drew himself up to his full height.

'Mr. Morrison, do you want to help your friend, or do you just want to lecture us on gay politics?'

'I'm not!'

'Yes, you are. We know all this stuff. I do, anyway. What do you know about murder investigations? What you see on TV? We think your friend may have been murdered by a serial killer. What do you know about serial killers?'

'Not much,' the man admitted, with a shrug. 'They kill a lot of people. One after another.'

'Most serial killers have a reason for picking the victims they do. It wouldn't be a reason we might understand, but it makes sense to them. A few years ago, there was the case of The Valentine Killer. The first victim was the killer's girlfriend. She dumped him on Valentines Day, and he strangled her. Then, for several years, he killed a woman on Valentine's Day who looked just like her. He left a Valentine at the murder scene… Yeah. You see, none of those women did anything to deserve it. His girlfriend was cruel to dump him on that day, but she didn't deserve to be murdered. The other women didn't even know him, until he attacked them. But they looked like her. If Ray was murdered by a serial killer, there may have been something he did, quite innocently, to set the killer off.'

'I see,' said Morrison. 'Okay. What do you need to know?'

'We know what he looked like. He was dark, and intense-looking. How did he talk? Walk? Things like that?'

'He... Ray was intense. He was quite masculine, and he hated being gay. Most of the time, I mean. He liked sex with guys, but he thought he shouldn't. He was always falling in love, and then screwing it up, somehow, by doing something stupid. Then, he blamed it all on being gay, you know?'

Hutch nodded. 'Go on,' he said. He sat down, and leaned back in his chair.

Morrison looked down at the heavy table. It was dark brown, stained with coffee. Scarcely interesting enough to warrant the attention he was giving it. 'Ray... Ray Swope was my friend,' he said. 'My friend. Never anything else.' He looked back up at Hutch. 'We were never lovers. It wasn't like that. But I loved him as a friend. I'd like to see the bastard who killed him behind bars for life. Just tell me how to help.'

Hutch leaned across the table. 'You can help by telling us what Ray was like as a person. Give us enough information that someone might be able to impersonate him.'

'Detective!' Agent Carruthers was almost spluttering. 'Do you think this is wise?'

'Why not? We'll learn more this way -- and more quickly. You don't strike me as the gossiping sort, Morrison. Are you?'

'No,' said Morrison. 'You mean you're going undercover as a gay man, to catch the murderer?'

'I'm not, but other cops might be. You won't know them, or what they look like, but their lives may be in danger, unless you keep that a secret.'

Morrison's eyes widened. 'You're serious about all this,' he breathed.

'Yes,' said Hutch. 'Now tell me everything you know.'

************

'I still don't think that was wise, Hutchinson,' said Carruthers, later.

'It was a risk,' said Hutch. 'But even if he does talk about it, which I doubt he will, most people will just imagine the usual scenario. Some cops hanging around in gay bars. It got us his full co-operation.'

Carruthers shrugged. 'You got us his full co-operation,' he said. Captain Dobey and I just seemed to antagonize him.'

'You're the FBI. And Captain Dobey is a captain. You're both wearing suits.'

'True,' said Carruthers. 'Did you get all the information you needed, Detective Starsky?'

'Hmm?' Starsky looked up from studying his notebook. 'Oh, plenty of information, thanks. I'm not sure how useful any of it will be, though.'

Agent Carruthers got to his feet and paced up and down for a moment. 'It gives us something to start with,' he said at last. 'I don't want to antagonize you as well. You are an experienced police officer, and you've worked undercover before. But may I offer some advice, nevertheless?'

'Sure,' said Starsky. 'What do you think?'

'Keep your own personality, for the most part. Don't try to impersonate Ray Swope. Just incorporate what Mr. Morrison told us about him, a little at a time.'

'Makes sense,' Starsky admitted. 'Do you really think this will help?'

'Something that Ray Swope did, or said, triggered the killer. It's like a key, I think. You turn the key, and something clicks, and the lock opens.'

'Or the right combination,' Starsky suggested.

'Yes,' said Carruthers. 'That's probably a better analogy.'

'I'll try hard to get that right combination,' Starsky promised.

'And I'll listen for the click,' said Hutch.

***************

'What do you think I should wear?' asked Starsky.

'Wear? You trying to catch a murderer, or dating him?'

'Jealous, Hutch?'

'Sure. Always. Just go with what Carruthers said. Be yourself. Dress like you always dress.'

'I thought I'd start out dressing really tough, like I'm trying to hide what I'm really like inside. You know? That I'm really a pussy? So I'm trying to hide it.'

'Yeah, like I said. Just be yourself,' said Hutch, nastily. 'Really.'

'Jerk,' said Starsky, with a grin. He added, 'Fuck you -- or I could borrow one of Angie's dresses.'

'Pale pink isn't your colour,' said Hutch. 'And you'd have to shave your chest. Think of the five o'clock shadow.'

'You'd know about that?' asked Starsky. 'From personal experience?'

'Yeah.... Why not wear something left behind by one of your old girlfriends, maybe? More your style.'

They'd reached their desks by this point. Dobey stuck his head out of his office. 'Starsky! Hutchinson!' he barked.

'Does he mean us?' asked Starsky, with assumed innocence.

'Guess so,' said Hutch. 'Doesn't look good.'

Agents Carruthers and Wyman were in Dobey's office, already.

'We have another body,' said Carruthers.

'Same M.O.,' added Wyman.

'We are reliably informed that the victim was gay, but haven't traced him back to Dr. Cragg,' Carruthers continued. 'Yet.'

'So that's three victims in San Francisco....' said Hutch.

'That we know of,' Carruthers pointed out.

'Yes, of course,' said Hutch. 'And two victims here,' he continued. 'That we know of. So far. One positive, one possible. If this victim pans out as one of the good doctor's patients, we should move on him. Fast. Or start warning the gay community. We can't just give this guy a license to kill. No, no. Listen. That's what he's had so far. Five of his patients murdered....'

'Four, Hutch,' Starsky pointed out. 'Maybe five. We don't know yet.'

'Okay. Four. Big difference. Maybe five. Maybe ten, for all we know. We might know more if we brought him in for questioning.'

'We might,' said Wyman. 'But he's a psychiatrist, remember? And he's no phony. Apparently, he's the proud owner of several degrees. A member of a number of psychiatric associations....'

'The Association of Gay Psychiatrists one of them?' asked Hutch.

'... He's highly respected,' Wyman went on, as if Hutch hadn't spoken. 'I doubt he's going to crack under interrogation. And if we decide to charge him anyway? He'll be cool as a cucumber on the witness stand. Offended that he's been charged, but understanding. Sympathetic to the victims -- of which he is actually one now himself. He's been trying to help these unfortunate men escape their dangerous lifestyle, and now his reputation is under attack. The jury will end up awarding him restitution.'

'You think?' asked Hutch. 'You can't think like that, Agent Wyman, or you're screwed from the start. Starsky and I, we've had cases that seemed iron tight go belly up once they hit the courts. And perps we thought would never crack under questioning, who sang like canaries once they got in the interview room. You never know, until you try.'

'That's what we're doing, Detective. Trying,' Carruthers spoke up. 'We want to crack this doctor's facade a little more....'

'On my partner's head?'

'Well, you know, Hutch, you keep saying it's solid marble,' Starsky pointed out.

'Let's hope so,' said Hutch.

***************

'I'll follow you in my car,' said Hutch, as Starsky prepared to leave for his first session with Dr. Cragg. 'I'll wait on the corner. If you're not out in a reasonable time....'

'I don't think he's gonna kill me right there in his office, first visit.'

'Who knows where he kills them? Or when.'

'And I'm armed. Armed and dangerous.'

'Maybe he uses chloroform on his victims, first. Or drugs them. I don't know why you're using your own name and profession. It's nuts. It's asking for trouble.'

'No it's not,' said Starsky. 'He'll never suspect the cops would send in an undercover agent as a cop, under his own name. That's the beauty of it.'

'Beauty isn't the word I'd use,' said Hutch.

They'd reached their cars. Hutch got in behind his steering wheel. Instead of getting into the Torino, Starsky got in with him.

'What?' asked Hutch, looking confused.

'Just wanted to talk for a minute where we can't be overheard,' Starsky explained. 'Listen, babe. It'll be okay. Okay?'

'Okay,' said Hutch.

'That's better,' said Starsky. 'That's more like it.' He squeezed Hutch's knee. 'Glad we had this little chat.'

'Me too,' said Hutch.

'Now I gotta go. Gonna get psycho... whatever.'

'Psychoanalyzed,' Hutch suggested. 'And it's hopeless. The shrink will throw up his hands in despair.'

'Good,' said Starsky. 'Cause I don't wanna be cured.'

****************

'Mr. Starsky, I see you are a police officer.' Dr. Cragg made it a firm statement. As if now it was all official, thought Starsky. He was tall, and dark-haired. He wore glasses. If the light was dim, and you squinted, he might look a little like Sigmund Freud, thought Starsky.

'Yes. I'm a detective,' Starsky told him. He tried to say it with a certain bravado, but also with an underlying insecurity. He had practised this with Hutch, Hutch complaining that teaching Starsky to be insecure was like teaching a fish to whistle.

'They look like they could whistle,' Starsky told Hutch. 'Their mouths go like this... whoo whoo whoo.' He demonstrated fish faces.

'Yeah, try that in the doctor's office,' Hutch suggested. 'You'll end up in the psych ward.'

He thought about that now, about ending up in the psych ward, and encouraged that thought to lead to insecurity. He thought about being insecure as he described his close brush with death, the year before.

'It's been rough, going back to work after that,' he told the doctor. 'I had... therapy, of course, and I thought I was fine, but... then I strapped on my gun, and got behind the wheel of my car...' And it felt great, he thought. Talk about therapy. 'And I started to sweat,' he said out loud. 'I didn't know what was wrong. I mean, I'm a tough cop. Always have been.'

'Well, you probably just need some time to adjust,' the doctor said. He sounded dismissive, and that was not good.

'And I started having nightmares,' Starsky added, in a monotone, as if he hadn't even heard the doctor's comments. 'Bad nightmares. Couldn't sleep. My partner got worried, 'cause your partner, you know, he's important. Life and death important. If he's not sleeping, it could mean your death. My partner told me to move in with him, so he could keep an eye on me. Make sure I was sleeping, eating, stuff like that.' Starsky tried to inject a touch of suggestiveness there. Like there's more to the story, he thought. Come on, Doc, he thought. Read my mind. Well, read a little of it. Don't dig too deep.

'How's that working out?' asked the doctor.

'Oh. Oh, pretty good, I guess,' said Starsky, not too enthusiastically.

'You guess?'

'I'm not sure,' Starsky admitted. 'It's confusing.' He looked down at the carpet.

The lighting in the room was muted, and the carpet itself was dark. At first, Starsky had not noticed a pattern, but now that he was looking....

'Mr. Starsky!'

Starsky jumped, a little, and looked up.

'Have you been listening?' the doctor asked.

'Yes. Yes, of course,' Starsky lied.

'You seem more disturbed than I first thought,' said Dr. Cragg. 'I will require more than one consultation to completely assess your case. Have my nurse give you another appointment for tomorrow at the same time.'

'So soon?' asked Starsky.

'It would be best,' said the doctor. He pulled out his prescription pad, and scrawled something illegible upon it. 'Here. Take one of these tonight. It's mild, but will help you sleep.'

'Thanks, Doc,' said Starsky, as he took the prescription form. Bugilton figlami. 100 gpst. Great. That'll fix me up, he thought.

'Oh, and Mr. Starsky,' the doctor continued. 'I can only help my patients if they tell me the truth. All the truth. I expect that tomorrow you will begin to do so.'

'Sure, Doc,' said Starsky. He looked into the doctor's eyes, trying to convey feelings of trust and sincerity. He held out his hand, and after a moment, the doctor took it, and shook it briefly.

Starsky pulled himself together, and sauntered out with his usual macho swagger.

Hutch was waiting in his own car, on the corner as promised. Starsky got behind the wheel of the Torino, and drove several blocks, Hutch following. He pulled over, and waited. Hutch got out of his LTD, marched up to the Torino, and climbed into the passenger seat.

'Well?' he asked. 'I see you survived.'

'Yeah,' said Starsky, staring through the Torino's windshield at the passing traffic.

'Starsk?' asked Hutch, after a moment of silence.

'He killed those guys, Hutch,' said Starsky. 'I don't know how I know, but I know. You know?'

'Yeah,' said Hutch. 'I know.'

'I seen eyes on snakes had more warmth.'

'That's not proof that'll stand up in court,' Hutch pointed out, unnecessarily.

'He shook my hand, and I hadda stop myself from checking to see if I still had all my fingers,' Starsky added.

'Let's see,' said Hutch.

Starsky showed Hutch his hands. Hutch took them, and counted fingers. 'Yeah. All ten present and accounted for.'

'Thanks, babe,' said Starsky.

'I've never seen you so freaked out,' said Hutch.

'I know,' said Starsky. 'But this guy. He's not like the usual bums and creeps we deal with. He was sittin' there, judging me. Like he had the right. Like he could just judge me, and decide I wasn't fit to live. That's how I felt. I'm not sure I want to talk to him about you. About my feelings for you.'

'You don't have to,' said Hutch, squeezing his hands.

'I know,' said Starsky. 'But I do. He's gonna judge me, maybe, and find me unfit to live, but I'll live, and I'll prove him wrong, and show him he's not my judge, jury and executioner. And that'll be something. Right?'

'Right,' said Hutch, and that sounded like a judgement Starsky could live with.

*************

'I'm not afraid of him.'

'Of course not.'

Hutch wasn't being sarcastic, Starsky decided. He seemed to accept Starsky's words at face value.

'I could take him apart with my bare hands,' Starsky went on. 'Hell, with one hand tied behind my back.'

'On crutches,' Hutch agreed. 'Drunk, and on crutches. If he had a machine gun, and you were armed with a table knife.'

'Yeah,' said Starsky. 'So, I'm not afraid of him. It's... it's just that he's a shrink, you know? He knows a lot about the human mind.'

'Yeah,' Hutch agreed. 'So you're in luck. He's not used to dealing with a mind like yours.'

'Yeah,' said Starsky. He took another swallow of beer. 'You think he won't be able to figure me out?'

'Who could?' asked Hutch. He moved to get up off the sofa. Starsky grabbed his arm, and pulled him back down. 'Easy,' said Hutch. 'I'm not going anywhere. My apartment, remember? Just getting another beer.'

'Oh. Get me one too?'

Hutch ambled out to the kitchen, and came back with two beers, and another bag of chips. He settled down beside Starsky again.

Starsky sighed. 'Why do you think he's doing it? Killing these guys, I mean?'

Hutch shrugged. 'What difference does it make?' he asked. He seemed a bit quiet and despondent, Starsky thought. 'I stopped trying to figure out why people killed other people long ago. You just make yourself crazy.'

'It might help, if we can figure it out. Why he's killing these guys. What he's getting from it. That's what the Feds are doing. Profiling, it's called.'

'Hmm,' said Hutch. He gave the matter some thought, as he drank his beer. 'He's a psychiatrist,' he said at last. 'He has patients who are homosexual. Some of them have been murdered. By him?'

'I'm sure of it,' Starsky said. 'I've got no evidence, but I'm sure of it.'

'Okay. As far as we know, none of his other patients -- the ones who aren't gay -- none of them have suffered the same fate.'

'As far as we know,' Starsky agreed. 'I wonder if anyone looked into that?'

'Yeah. It might bear looking into. But forget that for now. I studied psychology at college. There is a certain power relationship between a therapist and his or her patient.'

'And that could lead to power trips,' Starsky suggested.

'Yes. But Starsky, we can't really know what motivates this guy. We're not profilers. I'm not even sure I believe in all that. Once you start thinking you understand these people, that you know how they think... it's dangerous. We gotta look for some real, hard evidence. Even circumstantial evidence is better than believing he must be the murderer because he fits the profile.'

'Yeah.' Starsky scuttled a little closer to Hutch, on the sofa. 'Listen,' he said, softly. 'Earlier, you said I was freaking out. I'm not. It's just like I said. This creep is different from most of the creeps we brought down.'

'I know,' said Hutch. 'It's why I didn't want us to get involved. One of the reasons why. I still think it's way too dangerous for you, way too early. You just got back to work.'

'Yeah, well, we're involved now, babe. And I wanna bring him down. But I need a handle. He's thinking he's got my number. When I walk in there tomorrow, I'm gonna be breaking down and telling him all about me and you.'

'Lies, Starsky. All lies. Remember?'

'Oh, yeah. Lies. I ain't gonna tell him the truth. No way. But still.'

Starsky got up, and paced up and down the room. Hutch sprawled on the sofa watching him, with a soft smile on his face.

'It's lies,' he went on. 'But not all lies. It can't be all lies, Hutch. I'm talkin' about you. You and me. Me and any other guy -- that would be all lies.'

'That's why I wish we hadn't got involved in this,' Hutch said again. 'One reason why.'

'I'll be okay. I told you. But I need a handle on him, Hutch. Any handle. Even if it's the wrong handle. It can't be all wrong, can it? It wouldn't be all lies. There'd be some truth in it.'

'Okay,' said Hutch. 'Let's give you a handle.'

Starsky came back to the sofa, and settled down beside Hutch. 'He's a shrink,' he said. 'He's on a power trip. I don't doubt that at all.'

'Fair enough,' said Hutch. 'He's on a power trip, so he wants to control his patients. He wants them to do whatever he tells them.'

'He wants to know everything about them,' said Starsky. 'Today, he suggested I was lying to him. Told me that tomorrow, I had to start telling the truth, or he couldn't help me.'

'Well, that makes sense, though,' said Hutch. 'It's just the truth. How can he help his patients if they lie?'

'Right,' said Starsky. 'How can he help them?' He thought about this for a while, as he sipped his beer. He drained his bottle, and looked at the unopened bottle Hutch had put down in front of him. Then he took Hutch's bottle out of his hands, instead. He looked at Hutch, over the rim of the long neck, and smiled. Gently, he ran his thumb around the rim.

'Starsky!' Hutch chided, with mock severity.

Starsky ignored him. He slid his mouth down over the rim of the bottle, and hummed, appreciatively. At last, he tilted his head back, and took a long swig. 'Ah,' he said. 'That was good.'

Hutch chuckled, as he took his bottle back. He took a swallow himself, watching Starsky.

'He can't help his patients if they lie to him,' Starsky went on. 'Maybe that's it. His patients are like his children. If they tell the truth, and do what Daddy commands, that's okay. If they lie, or disobey....'

'We can't know all this for sure, Starsk,' Hutch insisted.

'No. But it's something to go on. I need to feel we have something to go on.'

'We do,' said Hutch. 'We always do.'

'Do we, Hutch? I don't like shootin' blind.'

'You're not,' said Hutch. 'I promise.'

'Ah,' said Starsky. 'Promises, now.'

'If you want promises,' said Hutch. He looked down at the bottle in his hand. 'I wasn't sure you wanted promises.'

Starsky closed his hands over Hutch's hand. The one that held the bottle. 'You weren't sure?' he asked. 'You thought I only wanted that? I told you, babe. This is me and you. Me and thee. I always want more than that. Always.'

************

They didn't teach you stuff like this in Police Academy, thought Starsky. What would they call the course, anyway? How to betray your partner without really trying?

Hutch told Starsky it wasn't a betrayal. Hutch told Starsky he would be lying about every essential thing. But Starsky knew better.

He stared up at the dull brown office building. It looked like the perfect place to betray the one you loved. Over the years, they'd both had lots of practise at betraying each other in minor ways, and ways not so minor. It was all just part of the fun of being alive. At any one given moment during any one given day you might be faced with a choice to do the right thing or the easy, safe thing. It was easier at times to go with the easy, safe thing. Too many years slipped by like that, while he and Hutch realized they were friends and not just partners. Then they realized they loved each other and weren't just friends. Then they realized....

And that didn't happen in one big, star-spangled, revelatory moment. It happened gradually, while they went on denying each other, betraying each other. He told himself that it was normal to appreciate his friend's beauty -- because it was. Who wouldn't appreciate Hutch's big, blond body, his gentle face and icy blue eyes? He told himself it was normal to love his friend -- because it was. Who could help loving someone as kind, as strong, as brave as Hutch? He told himself he was a cop and a real man and he liked women -- because he was and he did. He wanted to marry and have a family.

He still wanted that family, but how could he marry a woman, if he was in love with someone else? How could he marry at all, when he was already married to someone else? Starsky imagined his married life. A series of betrayals, of course. His wife. Hutch. Himself. His own heart and soul. Year after year. His wife turning cold. Hutch drawing away. He himself -- parts of himself dead. Numbed as with novocaine.

One day, he would look in the mirror and see a dried up shell. Empty eyes. Starsky shuddered, and came back to himself. He looked at his watch. He'd just indulged in the longest brood he'd ever had without breaking something, or hitting someone. He smiled. Then laughed out loud. Dried up shell? Not fucking likely!

Five minutes until he had to walk into that ugly brown building and face his opponent. Round two. In their first round, they'd danced around each other, showing off their fancy footwork. Now it was time to get down to business.

Business. Talking about Hutch. How could he tell that murderous psychopath about Hutch? He couldn't. It was that simple.

****************

Starsky stared down at the dark, hidden pattern in the carpet. The pattern seemed to have sunk further into the depths of the pile since his last visit. The air in the room seemed mustier; Dr. Cragg's voice more unctuous.

'David?' asked the doctor, suddenly. 'May I call you David?'

'Um, I guess so,' said Starsky, looking up. 'Why not?'

'Good,' said Cragg. 'That's a sign of progress. You're starting to trust me.'

'Trust you?' Starsky let his voice go cold. 'I'm not sure I know you well enough to trust you.'

'Is that the problem? You should try to trust me. That's what you're here for.'

'Am I?' asked Starsky. 'I'm not sure why I'm here, now that I think.'

'You're here for help,' said Dr. Cragg. 'That's what you told me yesterday. You have problems, you said. Problems sleeping. Did the pills help?'

'Oh, yes,' said Starsky. 'I had a good sleep last night,' he added, truthfully.

'Good. But pills are not a solution, merely a panacea. If you tell me what the problem is, that will be a start toward a real cure.'

Starsky looked back down at carpet, as if for a sign. A signal to go ahead. The right moment would come, he thought, and then he'd know what to say.

'David? I'm here to help you,' said the doctor. 'Not to judge you.'

'Yes, I know,' said Starsky. He looked up again. 'It's about my partner. My partner Kenneth.'

***********

'Kenneth is... He's a real man's man. You know? He'd beat the crap outa me, if he knew I felt this way about him. If he knew I was tellin' you about it. He thinks I'm as straight as he is. And he hates queers.'

Dr. Cragg nodded. 'That's understandable,' he said. 'It's police culture. Now, I don't hate homosexuals, David. I have a lot of homosexual patients, and I've learned to deal with my feelings about them. I told you, I'm not here to judge you.'

'No, you're here to help me,' Starsky interrupted.

'Yes,' said Dr. Cragg, carefully hiding his annoyance behind his usual bland therapist expression.

Starsky felt the annoyance like a pin prick. A pricking of my thumbs, he thought. Something evil this way comes. He got to his feet, and paced about the office, looking at the certificates on the walls. He felt the pricking again.

'I'm here to help you,' Dr. Cragg insisted.

'Are you sure you can do that?' asked Starsky. 'Can queers really be helped?'

'Homosexuals, David,' the doctor insisted. 'The word "queer" isn't pleasant, and it... it posits a condition. Homosexuality is a behaviour, like drinking or gambling. It can be stopped.'

'I haven't done anything with Kenneth,' Starsky pointed out. 'So there's nothing to stop.'

'What about other men?' asked the doctor.

'Oh. Sure. Here and there,' said Starsky, casually.

'Don't you feel guilty about it?'

'No. Why should I? Kenneth doesn't know about all that. It's my feelings for him I'm worried about. Like last night. We came home, and he had a shower, and he walked out, just a towel wrapped around his waist. Turned me on. But I didn't do nothing. There was no... behaviour.'

'Good!' said the doctor. 'Let's keep it that way. Why don't you move out, and back into your own place?'

'How can I do that? I told you, Kenneth is supposed to be keeping an eye on me, until I'm all better. That's the deal. I don't want the department to know I got problems.'

Silence. Pricking silence.

The therapist leaned back in his chair. 'Why don't we talk about why you started having these feelings for your partner in the first place?' he asked.

 

***************

'Kenneth! You called me Kenneth?'

'Sorry,' said Starsky, who was not sorry at all. 'I told Cragg you'd beat the crap outa me if you knew what I was saying to him. I had to have some reason to be really afraid of you. You know? Acting? Motivation?'

'You're nuts, Starsk. But if it worked for you....'

'Nah. I was joking, Hutch. Hutch, see? You're Hutch. I couldn't say those things about you, Hutch. But this Kenneth guy? Who's he when he's at home?'

'Yeah, that's what I say, too. You think he's buying it?'

Starsky thought for a minute. He pulled another piece of pizza out of the box, and sat back to eat it, swinging his feet up onto the sofa. Hutch came over to the sofa, and slapped his feet back down to the floor. Starsky grunted. He put down the pizza, and bent to take off his sneakers. Hutch sat down beside him, and Starsky put his feet in Hutch's lap.

'That's better,' said Starsky. 'I think he buys it,' he went on. 'He's given me no reason to think he doesn't buy it. I'm making him tug every piece of information out of me, one piece at a time. I'm arguing. I'm hinting he can't really help me. I think he's hooked.'

'Okay,' said Hutch, not sounding all that thrilled. 'What's next on the agenda?'

'Hmmm. Cragg's after me to move out. But I ain't movin'. And he's after me to go out with a lady tonight.'

'Go out? With a lady? You mean, pick someone up?'

'Yeah. I mean pick someone up, go back to my own place, take her to bed. That's what I mean.'

'Who you got in mind?' asked Hutch, coldly.

'Who I got in mind? Hutch! Wake up!' Starsky sat up, swung his feet off Hutch's lap, snapped his fingers under Hutch's nose. 'Wake up, Hutch. I don't have anyone in mind. This is all an act, remember? I'm not getting psychoboobilized by this shrink. He hasn't tried to hypnotize me yet. If he does, I'll remember I left the water running in the kitchen, and get the hell outa Dodge.'

'Okay,' said Hutch.

'Let's be blunt here,' said Starsky. 'What he really wants me to do, is pick up some girl and fuck her.'

'Okay,' said Hutch, again. 'What's wrong with that?'

'Nothing,' said Starsky. 'Except I'm tired of it.'

'Tired of fucking?' asked Hutch. He threw back his head and howled with laughter. Then, suddenly he sobered. 'You sure you're okay?' he asked. 'You haven't been out with a lady since....'

'I'm fine,' said Starsky. 'I'm not tired of fucking, Hutch. I'm tired of this game we've been playing.'

'Game? It's not a game. It's serious. It's important. It's our lives.'

'Yeah, well I'm sick of it. Listen, Hutch....'

'We had an agreement, Starsk.'

'And I'm breaking it. No, actually I consider it null and void.'

'How's that?' asked Hutch.

'I died.'

There was a long moment of perfect silence. Starsky didn't breathe, and neither, it seemed, did Hutch.

'I died,' said Starsky, again, breaking the silence when it threatened to become painful. 'And I consider any and all agreements I made with you null and void. You said this was our lives. It was, Hutch. Was. Past tense.'

'Starsky. You didn't die. You're alive and talking to me right now.'

'My heart stopped beating. That's close enough for me.'

'Too close,' said Hutch.

'Yeah, but you know, we made an agreement to stay in the closet, so we'd be safe. But I died anyway. Our theory has been proven wrong.'

Hutch sighed, and closed his eyes. 'You didn't get shot because they found out about us,' he pointed out.

'So what?' asked Starsky. 'I still got shot. It's not worth it to me any more. I'm tired of pretending.'

'Was that all it was?' asked Hutch. 'Pretending?' He sounded curious, and a bit bewildered.

'No,' said Starsky. He laughed. 'Oh, I like women. A lot. It was fun, for a while. Having all those women, and you waiting here.'

'I wasn't always waiting here,' Hutch protested. 'I had a few women of my own. More than a few.'

'I know,' said Starsky. 'What I meant was, the women were fun. Temporary, most of them. You're permanent. I thought you'd always be there. I thought we'd have time. Oh, I knew we could die any day out on the streets. But I still thought we'd have time. You know how you can believe two things at once?'

'You can, maybe,' said Hutch.

'Yeah, I can,' Starsky agreed. 'And I did. For the longest time. But not any more.'

Hutch was silent for a long time, thinking. 'What do you want to do, then?' he asked, at last.

'I don't know,' Starsky admitted. 'No. Don't laugh, Hutch. I don't know.'

'We can't come out. We can't tell everyone. It's too dangerous, and they wouldn't even let us be partners any longer.'

'I know,' Starsky admitted. 'I just can't go on like this.'

'Then why say anything?' Hutch got up from the sofa, and paced around the room. 'Why give me hope, then take it away? It's cruel.' Hutch's voice was very soft, always a bad sign.

'Ah, babe, babe. Don't.' Starsky got up and approached Hutch, as if calming a wild animal. 'I'm not taking anything away,' he said. 'I want to give you more. I want more from you. We'll work it out. It's dangerous, but worth it in the end. And look, we're living together, and the department knows it. We got permission.'

'I don't need permission,' Hutch snarled. He pulled Starsky into his arms. 'I don't need permission,' he said again, more softly this time. 'Not from the department. Not from anyone. Except you.'

'You got my permission, then,' said Starsky. 'You can do anything you want with me.'

'That's good,' said Hutch. 'You know what I wanna do.'

'Nah. I think I've forgotten,' said Starsky. 'Remind me.'

Hutch ran his hand down Starsky's back, slowly. 'You up to it?' he asked.

Starsky chuckled. 'I've been up to it for some time,' he said. 'I've been waiting and waiting and waiting.'

'You didn't say anything.'

'I didn't say anything? You wanted me to ask?'

'No. No, of course not. I'm sorry.' Hutch tensed and drew back, his face filled with guilt and remorse for fuck's sake.

Enough of this shit.

'Hey! Hey, you got nothin' to be sorry for,' Starsky told him. 'All those blowjobs were world class...'

'Starsk!'

'... and the handjobs, and whatever that other stuff is called. You know, when we just sort of rub....'

'Frottage?' Hutch suggested.

'Jesus! Frottage? Hutch! Fuckage, remember?' Hutch was laughing now and that was better. 'C'mere,' Starsky ordered. 'There. That's nice. You're so beautiful. You smell so good.'

'Are you trying to seduce me, Mr. Robinson?'

'Do I hafta?' asked Starsky. He held Hutch's eyes with his own, while his hands roved over the beautiful body in his arms.

'Yeah,' said Hutch, so softly Starsky could barely hear his voice. He felt it rather. In his bones he felt it. Okay. He was gonna seduce Hutch.

With Hutch, this stage of lovemaking was different than with any other lover. They were so familiar with each other's bodies. They knew each other, trusted each other completely. By now, they had settled almost every difference of opinion. There was no mystery -- not in the usual sense. The uncertainty, the initial excitement, came from who was going to take the lead.

And, oh yes, it came from Hutch's voice. The words he used. Gentle word of love, mixed with dirty words designed to urge them both on to fuck.

The excitement came from Hutch's strong hands, cupping Starsky's cock, rubbing against the denim. The heat and the strength of those hands. Loving. Tender. Demanding. Intrusive. Invading.

The excitement came from the sight of Hutch's cock. Starsky pulled at Hutch's belt. Tugged the leather through the buckle. Pulled open the snap on Hutch's jeans. Hutch -- damn him! -- Hutch was wearing buttoned jeans. Hutch laughed at Starsky's obscene comment, and that was exciting, too. It was exciting to open each button, to reveal inch after inch of naked flesh. And then -- finally! -- to watch as Hutch's cock rose up, dark red, hard.

'Monster!' said Starsky. His mouth watered, and oddly, the signs of his own excitement excited him even more. He realized that it was some time since he felt like this. Not since before Gunther and all that pain. Perhaps Hutch had been right to wait. To offer only gentle lovemaking. Hutch knew him so well.

Hutch knew where to touch him, the things to say. Hutch knew when to take the lead, and when to let Starsky lead. It was exciting to fight against that knowledge. Exciting to surprise him by forcing the issue, or by suddenly giving in when Hutch least expected it.

It was exciting to murmur gentle words of endearment, to praise Hutch's beauty as he might do with a woman, and then to turn fierce, to urge Hutch to....

Starsky heard a crash behind him. Hutch had just swept everything off the coffee table. Starsky wasn't sure how he had managed this feat, as his attention had been concentrated on Hutch's cock.

'Turn around,' Hutch ordered. 'Get down on your knees. Bend over the table.'

'Make me,' said Starsky, in his most obnoxious voice.

Hutch loomed over him. Spoke in his cop voice, hard and authoritative. 'Turn around now, or you'll be sorry.'

'You sure about that?' asked Starsky.

Hutch spun him around, tried to push him to his knees. Hard, but not hard enough. Starsky struggled, pushed back. Then gave in, suddenly. He fell to his knees. Hutch had been pushing him down, and now they landed half on, half off the coffee table, Hutch sprawled over Starsky's back.

'You okay?' Hutch gasped.

'Jesus, Hutch. Don't break the mood.'

'Sorry. Now, stay like that.'

Starsky decided to obey this time. He didn't want Hutch to go back to apologizing. And besides, it was nice like this, on his knees, Hutch behind him, Hutch pulling off his T-shirt, pulling his jeans down. He rested his elbows on the coffee table, and let Hutch go for it.

Hutch was saying obscene and ridiculous things about how he was going to fuck him. Fuck him until he exploded or something, and that sounded promising. He wanted to watch. He missed the mirror on the ceiling. There should be a mirror in front of him so he could see Hutch, see him looming over his back, his cock big and red and ready. He wanted that. But Hutch wouldn't let him up to get a mirror. Hutch was holding him in place. Hutch's hands were exploring between his legs. His legs were trapped by his jeans, which Hutch hadn't pulled all the way down. Starsky complained about that too, but it was exciting.

Hutch was probing his ass, probing with his hands and then his cock. His cock was slicked only with spit, and it hurt, but only a little. Starsky was used to this. They were both used to it. To fucking each other without much preparation. Hutch's cock was big. It opened him up, and made itself at home inside him, and it hurt, but it was good. Hutch was at home inside him. Starsky's body was his home.

Hutch reached around and gripped Starsky's cock. He pulled at it, hard and fast.

'No!' Starsky tried to say. 'Not so fast.' But his words came out all garbled, and somehow turned into begging for more and faster. Oh, Hutch knew him so well. Too well.

Damn. God. Fuck. He was coming, and coming, and his ass was clenching over Hutch's cock, and Hutch went on and on, pumping into him. Starsky sprawled over the coffee table, limp and boneless and helpless and let Hutch fuck him. Until his own cock grew hard again. Then, he pushed back, fighting Hutch's domination. He pushed back against Hutch's cock, back against the hard body pounding his own. Hutch howled, and came. Starsky thought he could feel the spurts of semen inside him.

Starsky felt Hutch's cock slide from his body. He turned, pushed Hutch onto his back, down onto the bare floor. He finished pulling off his own jeans, and tugged Hutch's jeans down his legs, and off his bare feet. Then, he pushed Hutch's legs up, over his own shoulders.

'You want this,' he told Hutch. 'You want me to fuck you, don't you?' He couldn't hear Hutch's answer over the pounding of the blood in his ears. But Hutch didn't seem to be arguing. His body was hot, inside and out. Hutch pulled him in, as much as Starsky pushed inside. The heat was irresistible. Starsky didn't want to resist. He couldn't resist. Not to save his life.

A great rushing tide of sex and love and joy and hot, drumming anger washed over Starsky. 'Don't fight me,' he was saying. 'Don't stop me. Don't deny me any more. This is what I need. This. Only this.'

They hadn't gone at it like this for so long. Not so hot and so fast. It was insane, thought Starsky. So beautifully insane. He came, hard, as if by an unearthly force of nature, and not by Hutch's power or his own will. Then he fell forward, into Hutch's warm, loving arms.

****************

'That was fun,' said Hutch, out of a long, deep silence. He sounded happy, like it had indeed been fun. But there was something off about his voice, something a bit bewildered. The 'offness' was muted, hidden, like the pattern in the carpet at Dr. Cragg's office. Only Starsky would have noticed the pattern, he thought, and only then because he was lying naked and tangled in Hutch's limbs. His cock had slipped out of Hutch's ass, and was resting against Hutch's cock. Starsky scarcely knew where his body ended, and Hutch's body began. Perhaps there was no real division.

Starsky shifted a little in Hutch's arms. Their skin stuck together, as if their bodies were reluctant to separate. Hutch pressed his hand against the back of Starsky's neck, to hold him still, to hold him closer. Perhaps just to hold him?

Starsky settled back down, and they lay together a while longer. Hutch made a nice, warm bed, he thought, and as long as he was comfortable with Starsky lying on top....

At last Hutch sighed and pushed Starsky away, very gently. 'You're heavy,' he grumbled. 'Sorry.'

'Nah,' said Starsky, as he sat up. 'I was wondering how long you'd put up with me. We don't usually do that.'

'Do what?' asked Hutch, curiously.

Starsky got to his feet. He looked around the room and laughed a little. Clothes tossed everywhere. A broken glass from the coffee table. 'I better clean that up before we do anything else,' he announced.

'Anything else?' asked Hutch. He was still sprawled on the floor, naked from the waist down.

'That's a good look on you,' said Starsky. 'Hang on while I get a broom.' He pulled his jeans on, and went to the kitchen. Found the broom and dust pan, and came back to the living room.

Hutch was sitting on the sofa. He'd put his jeans back on, but his shirt was still hanging open, and his feet were bare. He looked relaxed and satisfied, but he watched Starsky clean up the mess with an odd expression on his face. That oddness, again.

Starsky swept the pieces of broken glass into the dust pan. He picked up the stray clothes and dumped them in a chair. Put the magazines back on the coffee table. Took the broken glass out to the kitchen and dumped it in the trash. Grabbed a couple of beers from the fridge. Came back to the living room.

Hutch was sitting on the sofa. It didn't look like he'd moved at all.

Starsky sat down and handed him a beer. He cracked open his own. Hutch put his down on the coffee table.

Starsky watched this movement, as he drank his beer. There was a certain finality about it, he thought. Was Hutch rejecting his offer? Or maybe he wasn't thirsty. Why shouldn't he be thirsty? They'd just had wild sex. Hutch should be thirsty. Starsky was thirsty. God, he was thirsty.

'We need to talk,' said Starsky.

'Talk?' asked Hutch.

Starsky exploded. 'Will you stop repeating everything I say. We don't usually do that. I needed to clean up the living room, there was broken glass. We need to talk.'

'We're men,' said Hutch. 'We fuck a lot. So what if the living room is a mess? Men don't talk. Not about sex, anyway. Football. Fishing. Work. That sort of thing.'

Starsky didn't deign to point out how ridiculous such a statement was, when applied to them. 'We're men who fucked each other senseless on the living room floor, and I wanna talk about it,' he said.

'Why?' asked Hutch.

'Why? Because I love you.'

'Have we joined the Mickey Mouse Club, now?'

'Huh?' Starsky thought over what he'd just said, and laughed. 'No,' he said. 'We've gone past all that kid stuff, I think. We can't go back. Who are we? What do people call us? What do we call ourselves?'

'Hutchinson and Starsky,' said Hutch, with a grin.

'Yeah. Okay. Or Starsky and Hutchinson. Starsky and Hutch. We're partners. We're a team. We're men. That was us on the coffee table. On the floor. Having grown up sex. Fucking each other. That wasn't kid stuff.'

'Who said it was?' asked Hutch. He picked up his beer bottle, and opened it. Took a long swallow. It seemed he was thirsty after all.

'We did, in a way. We said it wasn't real, wasn't important. What mattered was the friendship, the partnership.'

'That is what matters,' Hutch insisted.

'Of course it's what matters,' said Starsky, impatiently. 'But it's not the only thing. The sex matters too. We have sex, and it matters.'

'Yeah,' Hutch murmured. 'It matters. But I could live without it.'

'Could you? Could you really? Okay,' said Starsky. 'Let's end it now. Let's say that was a goodbye fuck. Fun, but we don't need that kind of fun any more. Okay?'

Hutch put the beer bottle down on the table, with hands that weren't quite steady. 'Okay,' he agreed. 'If that's what you want.'

'No! That isn't what I want, and you know it. Babe. Listen to me. We love each other. We love each other in every way. Partners. Friends. That way, too.'

'That way?' asked Hutch. 'You mean lovers?'

'If you like,' said Starsky.

'Then say what you mean.'

'Lovers,' said Starsky. 'We're not just friends who have sex. We're lovers.' The word felt strange in his mouth. Overly romantic. Maybe a bit silly. But what other word was there?

'What made you decide this, all of a sudden?'

'It wasn't all of a sudden,' said Starsky. 'It's been growing a long time. Ever since the first time.'

'We made a pact,' Hutch reminded him.

'Yes, and we broke it over and over. The pact was wrong. It was a lie. I've been thinking a lot about lies, lately. Because of having to lie to that shrink, you know? But the lies aren't lies. Not exactly. And it made me realize. We've been lying to each other, to ourselves. And we just got caught in our own lies. I'm tired of lying. Every time before, when things got too hot between us, we cooled it off. One of us went out and found a woman....'

'I know all this.'

'Yeah. We know what we've been doing, but we go on doing it.'

'Because it's necessary, Starsky. That's what we agreed.'

'We just had this conversation, Babe. And I told you all previous agreements are null and void. I want a new agreement. I want things to be like this between us from here on in. What we just did tonight? That's the way it's gonna be. We're lovers.' The word didn't feel so strange, now.

'Don't I get a say in all this?' asked Hutch.

'Sure,' said Starsky, with feigned casualness. 'Have your say.'

'Be careful, Starsky. It's not fair that we have to be careful, but life isn't fair. The sex -- it's important to us. But the rest of the world -- most of it -- would see it as dirty. It's none of their business, but they have the power, and we don't. If we're gonna come out....'

'I'm not sure about that yet,' Starsky interrupted.

'Me neither,' said Hutch. 'And we need to be on the same page about that. We need to be sure.'

'Agreed,' said Starsky. 'We won't do anything unless we're both on the same page. But I want to have sex like that with you on a regular basis. And I don't want to come over here and find some lady walking out of your bedroom.'

'You're jealous!' said Hutch. He sounded astonished. Amused. That was okay. The oddness had gone from his voice and his face.

'Yeah, I'm jealous,' Starsky agreed. 'The next time I find a lady in your bedroom, I'm going to challenge her to a duel.'

Hutch smiled. He took a long drink of beer. Starsky put his feet in Hutch's lap again, and leaned back on the sofa.

******************

In all the years they'd been together, Starsky could have counted on one hand the times they'd fallen asleep in the same bed. In each other's arms, no less. They had a pact. An agreement. Thus far and no farther. They'd controlled this expression of their love, rationed it out. A little here, a little there. Enough to keep body and soul together. Not enough to attract attention.

And when things got too hot between them, one of them had gone out and found a woman.

Until they found the same woman. That had shaken up the status quo. Starsky wondered vaguely where they'd be now if he hadn't gone over to Kira's house that day.

Hutch opened his incredible blue eyes, and all such speculation fled. Starsky bent down and kissed the man like he deserved. When he raised his head, Hutch had that odd look on his face again.

'What?' asked Starsky.

'What what?' asked Hutch.

'You've been looking at me funny lately, what.'

'I... I don't know,' said Hutch. 'You moved in.'

'Moved in?'

'Yeah. You moved in. With me. You're here.'

'I know. It's where I'm supposed to be. That's the plan, remember?'

'No. That's not it. It's not just the plan. It's... never mind.' Hutch's face had closed. The odd look had gone, but so had some of the light and happiness.

'Hey! Don't say never mind. Of course it's not just the plan, if you mean the plan the Feds cooked up. I like it here with you. Okay?'

'Okay,' said Hutch, his face lightening again. 'I like you here, too.'

'You mean here? In your bed? Or here?' Starsky put his hand on Hutch's cock, which reacted with gratifying speed to his touch. They almost never got the chance to do it as often as they liked. All last evening. Half the night. Now?

Yes, now. Starsky slid down in the bed, and took Hutch's cock in his mouth. Hutch mumbled something about not enough time, and being late for work.

Starsky lifted his head long enough to say, 'We got enough time for this.'

***************

'I told you we'd be late,' Hutch complained.

'Yeah, well, you can't blame all of that on me,' said Starsky, cheerfully. 'Come on. We're only a few minutes late. No one will notice.'

'Starsky! Hutchinson! You're late,' Dobey announced as they entered the bullpen. 'In my office.'

'Late? Nah, Cap'n. Your watch is fast,' Starsky explained.

'We got held up in traffic,' said Hutch, as he shut the office door.

Agent Wyman grinned at them for a moment. Then, his face went grave again. 'Our new vic was one of Dr. Cragg's patients. We found cancelled checks made out to the doctor's office,' he said.

'Okay! So, do you really need my partner's input now?' asked Hutch. 'This has gone way past coincidence. Haul the guy in and grill him. Investigate everything he ever did or read or thought. If he were anyone else....'

'That's just it, Hutch,' said Starsky. 'If he were anyone else. Or if his victims were anyone else. A Black labourer, suspected of killing nice, rich, white women? No problem. Any jury would convict on the kind of evidence we have. But these victims chose their dangerous life style. Remember? They should'a been more careful.'

'Starsk!' Hutch looked like he was about to explode.

'I'm just saying,' said Starsky. He met Hutch's furious eyes levelly.

'Hey, you two. Settle down,' Captain Dobey warned. 'Starsky has a point, Hutch. It's not fair, but there it is. This guy could hire the best lawyers. The case would probably be thrown out of court before it went to a jury.'

'Captain! Come on. We don't know that for sure,' Hutch protested. 'And in the meantime we're letting him get away with murder. We're treating him differently than we would Starsky's mythical Black labourer. Would we even be having this conversation, in that case?'

'Probably not,' said Captain Dobey. 'And that doesn't make me any happier about it, I can tell you.'

'I'm sorry, Captain Dobey,' said Hutch. 'I wasn't suggesting it would.'

'Listen, guys,' said Starsky. 'Let's scare him a little. The Feds have this new information. They should question him about it. Put some pressure on him. Make him sweat. But then, ease off. Pretend to buy his story.'

'Yeah?' said Hutch. 'So?'

'Then I go in for my appointment. Listen Cap'n, Agent Wyman. Hutch and me figure this guy gets off on having the power over his patients, you know? So, if I act insubordinate....'

'You, Starsky? Insubordinate?' Captain Dobey snorted. 'That's a bit far fetched, isn't it?'

'I'll manage, Cap'n,' said Starsky, sweetly. 'I'll give it all I got. Tell him I've decided to accept I'm gay, and to hell with everyone else.'

Hutch sighed, and rested his head in his hands for a moment. When he raised his head, his eyes were empty and dull with pain. 'I suppose, since we're going ahead with this...'

'Hutch....' Starsky started to protest that whatever they were doing wasn't worth the pain in his lover's eyes and voice, but how could he justify his change of heart? They were cops. They risked their lives out on the streets every day. They'd both nearly died several times. How could he explain that Hutch's pain hurt him worse than any number of bullets?

'Since we're going ahead with this charade,' Hutch went on, as if Starsky hadn't spoken. 'Why don't I up the ante? We want the good doctor to lose it and attack Starsky sooner or later. Why not sooner?'

'What are you suggesting, Hutch?' asked Captain Dobey. 'You want to pay him a visit and mess with his mind, too?'

Hutch studied his fingernails, rather like a cat might do, before pouncing on a mouse. 'Why not?' he said again. 'I should meet him face to face. I need to know who to watch out for.'

*********************************

It wasn't all Starsky's fault, thought Hutch. The current mess they were in wasn't much his fault. Well, to be fair, it wasn't his fault at all. Starsky was just a convenient target for his general unhappiness with the world because he was Hutch's lover and best friend, and what else were lovers and best friends for? Besides the obvious things like sex and... And God, last night the sex had been good. Better than good. Starsky had been a fixture in his life for years. They spent most of their time together. They worked together, played together, took vacations together, fucked together. A few times they'd even slept together. Starsky had been living with him for several days now. So, it was a mystery to Hutch, but there it was -- last night, Starsky had been really there. So painfully real. So unavoidably there.

Starsky was a good fuck, too.

Hutch didn't care much about things like money and important jobs and fancy titles and offices and expensive cars and homes and furniture and clothes. He supposed he was attractive enough, because enough people had told him he was attractive, but being attractive didn't mean much to him, except for one thing: he never doubted that he deserved the very best when it came to lovers, and he could get them. So, he went after the most beautiful and feminine women. And the toughest, most masculine men. For some strange reason he had never been able to fathom, it didn't work out the way it was supposed to. The way he expected. The way he deserved. The ethereally beautiful women wafted off into the ether. And as for the men.... They were better left in discreet silence, rather than described in painful detail.

Until he met Starsky. Starsky was the real thing. He was a man, no doubt about it. But he was a person, too. A human being. Beautiful inside and out. Proud, but not in that obnoxious way some attractive people had, as if his looks could atone for any number of sins. Starsky had class. Far more class than all of his father's rich, snobbish friends combined.

And Starsky loved him. Starsky lay down for him. Starsky let Hutch fuck him and he moaned like a cat in heat. And then he turned the tables and left Hutch aching for more. There should have been more. In a just universe there would have been more.

Starsky was his partner. They were cops. In a just universe, it wouldn't have made a fucking difference in hell that they were also lovers. Instead, they were stuck here, in this universe, where it made a hell of a lot of fucking difference.

But they got by. It would have been a waste of time to hide the fact they loved each other, so they didn't even try. The Purloined Letter, thought Hutch. Hiding in plain sight. People gossiped about them, and they ignored it all, and went on the way they started. They got by. It should have been enough, but it wasn't.

There were still the lies. The hurt feelings. The dangers. It was like spending every day of your life walking the white line to check for sobriety. Eventually, no matter how sober you are, you slip up. You stumble and fall.

And now they were in this fucking charade. This idiotic play acting. Yeah, Starsk. Pretend like you want my dick up your ass. How had he walked into this with his eyes open? But he had. He knew what they were getting into. Starsky must have known too, but he seemed to think it was an opportunity.

An opportunity for what? To have, for a few glorious days and nights, what they should be able to have for the rest of their lives? To have a taste of what straight couples took for granted? And at the same time, there was this other charade. The one that left the taste of ashes in his mouth, every time he tasted that glorious feast.

Time to play his part in that charade now, thought Hutch. Time to pour the ashes over his head, and rend his garments asunder. Time to pay the piper.

'Hutch? Hutch? I've been talking to you for ten minutes. Have you heard a word I said?'

'Every word, Starsk,' Hutch lied.

'Sure you have,' said Starsky. 'Look, if you don't want to do this, say so. Don't do it. You don't have to do it, you know.'

'Yes, I do. I want this over with. Over and done with. Finished. Ended. Gone.'

'Okay,' said Starsky. 'Gotcha. You're gonna do it. Then let's go to Huggy's and get drunk after.'

'It's a date,' said Hutch.

'Ah, Hutch. We're dating?'

'That was a figure of speech,' said Hutch. He got out of the car, and walked down the street toward the dull, brown office building, and didn't look back. Starsky was too adorable in his present mood, and Hutch needed to clothe himself in solid, stainless steel, brass-plated, heterosexual armour.

 

************

 

Doctor Gerald Cragg. Thus read the nameplate on the dark brown door. Hutch opened it, and walked in. The doctor's receptionist was young, blonde, and pretty. She looked nice, and not at all like the accomplice of a serial killer, but who knew? She was filing her nails, and chewing gum. When Hutch stalked up to her desk, she blushed prettily, put down her nail file, and quietly removed the gum before asking him, 'Hello? Are you here to make an appointment, sir?' She smiled, and looked him up and down appreciatively.

Her name tag informed him that she was Kerry Ames. She was the sort of girl he would have flirted with outrageously in better times. He amended that phrase to 'more innocent times, not necessarily better', and steeled himself to be a total prick and burst her little bubble of a life. Soon she might well be out of a job, and being questioned by the police as a material witness, if not actually behind bars as an accomplice.

'An appointment?' asked Hutch, at his most arrogant. 'Do I look like a nutcase to you?'

Kerry's smile disappeared quickly. She drew herself up to her full height of five foot three, and informed him in icy tones that, 'We do not refer to our patients as nutcases, sir. If you do not wish to make an appointment, might I enquire why you are here?'

Hutch hid his smile with some difficulty. He decided that he liked Kerry Ames, and he hoped that nail file didn't have traces of blood from her boss's victims.

'I'm here to see Dr Gerald Cragg,' he snapped. 'Not as a patient, however. I simply want to talk to him. Alone.'

'If you want to talk to him, you must make an appointment. The doctor is a busy man.'

'I'm sure he is,' Hutch snapped. 'He'll make time to see me.'

'Indeed, sir! And who are you, exactly?'

'Is this his office back here?' asked Hutch, ignoring her question, as he strode behind her desk, toward a door marked Private.

'Sir! You can't go in there. That is a private office.' Kerry hurried to stand in front of him, and block the door.

'I can read,' said Hutch. 'Be a good little girl, and move out of my way.' He smiled condescendingly at Kerry's outraged expression.

'Little girl!' she spluttered.

The Private door behind her opened, and a man stepped out. Hutch recognized him from the photographs the G-Men had shown him, and from Starsky's own description. Dr Cragg in the flesh. Tall, dark hair, glasses. Not Sigmund Freud. A Freudian Wannabe?

'What is going on, Kerry?' the doctor asked.

'Doctor, this... this gentleman barged in. He insists he wants to talk to you.'

'Are you Dr Cragg?' asked Hutch, in his most belligerent voice. 'If so, we need to speak alone. Now!'

'I am Dr Cragg. And who might you be?'

'I'll tell you that when we're in your office,' said Hutch, advancing on the doctor in a threatening manner.

'Kerry! Call the police,' said Dr Cragg.

Kerry hurried to the phone, and picked up the receiver.

Hutch reached into his pocket, and pulled out his badge. 'I am the police,' he said.

Dr Cragg froze. He opened his mouth, and nothing came out.

'I need to speak to you about something private,' Hutch went on. He watched the doctor's eyes, as he said this. Something dark had slithered across them, like a snake. Now, something akin to a spark of hope arose.

'Certainly,' said the doctor. 'Kerry, forget the police, and please cancel my next appointment. Make some excuse. I will see my four PM appointment, though.'

'Yes, Doctor,' said Kerry. She gave Hutch one cold look, and went back to filing her nails.

Starsky, thought Hutch. He's talking about Starsky. Starsky is his four PM appointment. He followed the doctor into his private office, and shut the door behind him. He kept his hand near his gun. If the doctor felt really threatened....

Dr Cragg sat behind his desk. Hutch watched him carefully. He would have bet his life savings that there was a gun in one of the drawers.

'We're speaking privately, as you wished,' the doctor informed him. 'What is all this about?'

'My partner is one of your patients,' said Hutch.

'Your... I'm sorry, Officer. I can't discuss my patients with anyone, even a police officer. Even if he is your partner. Doctor patient privilege, and all that.'

'My name is Detective Sergeant Ken Hutchinson. My partner -- my former partner I mean -- is David Starsky. He told me he was a patient of yours. And I want to know what you said to him.'

The doctor jumped to his feet, spluttering with indignation. 'Please leave, Detective. I would never discuss a patient with you.'

'You said something to him,' Hutch went on, ignoring the doctor's protestations. 'You must have said something to him. The little fag made a pass at me last night. He told me he decided he's queer. After one visit with you. What did you tell him? You one of those therapists that tell their queer patients they're normal?'

'He did what? I told him no such thing. He's confused, that is obvious. I suggested he go out and find a woman, and that might end his confusion. You could help him, if you tried. Your partner is suffering from gender-identity deficit. He feels incomplete in his own maleness. He is attached to you, as his partner, and so he's eroticizing your relationship.'

'Not with me he isn't,' Hutch snarled.

'You could support him in his desire to change,' the doctor went on. 'Give him the strong, masculine figure he needs to identify with.'

'I see,' said Hutch. 'Well, I taught him a lesson, and I hope that works. He's nursing a few bruises right now, and he's moving back into his own apartment tonight. He'll be looking for another partner, if the department doesn't fire him. I'll have something to say about that.'

'That might work. Convince him that his homosexual behaviour is inappropriate and dangerous. It will destroy his life, if he doesn't stop. He needs the support of his friends.'

'I'm no longer among his friends,' said Hutch. 'You convince him to get more help. He needs it. And convince him to stay away from me. Far away.'

Without waiting for a reply, because he wasn't sure if he could control himself one minute longer, Hutch turned on his heel and stomped out of the office.

'Bye, sweetie,' he said to Kerry. 'Can I call you for a date sometime?'

Kerry looked at him like he was roadside trash. Perceptive girl, he thought.

'Don't call me,' she said. 'I'll call you.'

 

*********************

 

Starsky was waiting faithfully in the Torino. 'So,' he said. 'You survived. Was it that bad?'

'I think you're right, and he's our guy.'

'Okay! We're getting somewhere. What happened?'

'When I pulled out my badge -- the look on his face, in his eyes. We've seen that before.'

'Hundreds of times,' Starsky agreed. 'That look.'

'Yeah. That look. All Is Known. Just for a moment, but it was there.'

'Well, the Feds must have shook him up when they paid him a visit, and then you knock at his door. Maybe he was just freaked out.'

'You playing Devil's Advocate, now?'

'Babe, I am the Devil. And I'm no one's advocate but yours. I'm just saying. We can't count on that look. If he doesn't take the bait, we have to be prepared. He could weasel out of it.'

'He'll slip up eventually,' said Hutch.

'Yeah. Eventually. He'll kill someone important. He'll kill a nice, normal heterosexual by accident. Or someone will survive to identify him. In the meantime... how long do we allow for meantime? This is worth it, Hutch.'

'I know.'

'Okay. So, I go in for my last visit. I go back to my own place. And we wait, and hope.'

'Yeah,' said Hutch, colourlessly.

'Don't get all excited,' Starsky warned.

'Okay, I won't. Waiting for some creep to attack you isn't my idea of excitement. It doesn't fill me with hope.' Hutch reached out and cupped the bruise on Starsky's cheek. 'That still hurt?' he asked.

'Yeah,' said Starsky, cheerfully. 'A little. But, hey. I've had worse. So've you. We've hit each other worse. You weren't even trying. This was supposed to  
look a little more convincing.'

'I know. When I hit you before, I was pissed off at you. This time, it was the whole situation pissed me off, and I hated taking it out on you. Cragg's not the only one freaking out.'

'You freaking out too, Babe?' Starsky took his hand. 'This will all be over soon, and then we have some serious talk coming up.'

'About what?'

'Like... about your place or mine.'

'Starsk? Oh, no. No, we can't live together. We can't.'

'I got news for you. We are living together,' Starsky pointed out. 'We been living together for days.'

'You're moving back to your own place,' said Hutch. 'Tonight. That's the plan.'

'That's the Fed plan,' said Starsky. 'I've never been one for the Feds. I'm not letting anyone run my life, Hutch,' he went on. His voice was low and soft and reassuring. It was the tone he used when Hutch was in pain, or worried, or... the first time they'd had sex. 'No one runs my life but you,' he added.

'No one runs my life either,' Hutch snapped. 'You think that's what we've been doing? Letting people run our lives? It's not fair we can't have everything we want in this world, but this is the world we live in. Remember? Or at least it's the world I live in. I wonder about you, sometimes. I don't understand people who are filled with hatred and bigotry, but they exist. And they could destroy our lives, whether we like it our not. That's the world we live in.'

Starsky's fingernails scratched gently at Hutch's palm, sending a shiver up his arm, down his spine, straight to his cock. Starsky smiled. 'Just marking my place in the world I live in,' he said. He bent and kissed Hutch's knuckles -- the knuckles Hutch had tried rather unsuccessfully to bruise him with -- and clambered out of the Torino.

Hutch watched Starsky walk away from him, toward the office building. His feelings were mixed. Love. Admiration. Irritation. And yes, a little hope. Confusion, for the most part. Starsky made his own reality. Or he tried to, and never gave up trying. Hutch had allied himself with that reality early on, without ever becoming a card-carrying citizen of it. He maintained his own individuality, his own way of looking at reality. But Starsky's confidence that he could shape the world for them both was attractive. Starsky was Hutch's lodestone. His North Star.

On many occasions over the years, they had entertained themselves by imagining the sort of world where their love would be welcome. A world in which they wouldn't have to pretend. A world in which their relationship would elicit a modicum of attention and interest. Hutch could imagine Dobey saying, 'Oh, you and Starsky living together now? How's that working out? Great! I'm happy for you.'

Hutch could imagine Dobey saying that. He could dream about Dobey saying that. He knew his dreams would never become reality. Reality was the relationship they'd constructed. Their relationship had borders and limits, and sometimes they collided with those borders and limits and the collision left them both bruised and bloody, but they survived. Their relationship was strong, in spite of the borders and limits -- or perhaps because of them -- and they survived. They had negotiated those limits themselves, and agreed on them. And now, Starsky had declared them null and void. He seemed to want perfect freedom, and the concept was frightening. The limits they had set had kept their relationship within bounds. Without limits, it could lead them anywhere.

 

******************

 

Starsky parked the Torino in front of his apartment building, and climbed out. He opened the trunk of the car, and pulled out a cardboard carton and a garment bag. He slung the bag over his shoulder and lifted the carton. He carried them to his apartment, and opened the door, then pushed the box inside with his foot. A slight sound had him reaching for his gun, but almost instantly he knew it was Hutch. He turned with his finger cocked to impersonate a pistol instead. 'Reach for the sky, Varmint,' he said, in exaggerated Old West style.

'It's just me, Lawman,' said Hutch, softly. 'Quick. Close the door.'

Starsky kicked the door closed. 'Whad'ya have in mind?' he drawled.

'Nothing at the moment,' said Hutch. 'And keep your voice down. God! You'd think you'd never been in a stakeout before.'

'Well, this doesn't feel like a real stakeout, I guess,' said Starsky. He strutted to the fridge, and got two beers. When Hutch glared at him, he laughed. 'What? We on duty, or something? Come on!'

'I'm on duty. I'm your bodyguard, remember? And I'm taking this seriously, if you're not.'

'I'm taking this seriously,' said Starsky. He opened his bottle, and took a long, deep swallow. 'That's good,' he said, with a sigh. 'I take it seriously when you guard my body. And I just seriously removed some of my stuff from your apartment. There's more out in the Torino.'

'Okay. That's... serious.'

'Nah. Not serious. Magazines. A few old clothes,' said Starsky. He put down his beer, and added, 'Enough to make it look good. But it could get serious. We could fight.' He pushed Hutch down on the sofa, and straddled his lap. 'Wanna fight?' he asked.

'Starsky, the FBI have this place under surveillance, remember?'

'Yeah, I remember. They could be watching right now, through binoculars. Sorta exciting, isn't it?'

'No, it's not. Get off me, right now.' Hutch pushed Starsky off his lap, and struggled to his feet. 'This is hardly the time or place.'

'You're no fun,' said Starsky.

'No, I'm not. How did your interview with Cragg go? You didn't say much about it earlier.'

'Oh, that was fun. We were really bonding there, last half-hour.'

'Yeah?'

'Yeah. Like bonding with a boa constrictor. I think he likes me. A lot. Every time I thought I broke free, he threw another coil over me. I'll run down the entire conversation for you later. In the meantime, if you don't want that beer, I do.'

'You haven't finished the first beer,' Hutch pointed out. 'Are you feeling okay?'

'I'm fine,' said Starsky. 'What about you?'

'I'm not fine. Your eyes look funny.'

'Gee, thanks, Hutch. So do yours.' Starsky took a deep swallow of the second bottle of beer. 'I'm just thirsty, is all. It's a warm day. Cragg kept me talking too long. I'm going to get the rest of my stuff from my car. Be back in a minute.'

'Starsky... settle down. Forget about the stuff in the car. It's not important. We should talk about... Starsky?'

Starsky was already out in the hall, on his way to the car. Hutch couldn't go running after him. Cragg could be out there, keeping an eye on the building. He was supposed to have cut Starsky out of his life, leaving him alone and vulnerable. That was the whole point of this ridiculous scenario. Hutch didn't like the scenario, but they had risked a lot to set it up. If Cragg caught on, it would all have gone to waste. And then what?

Besides, it had taken a lot of arguing to get him into Starsky's apartment as his bodyguard. The Feds hadn't wanted him anywhere near the place. If he blew the set-up now.... And he wanted Cragg behind bars, no question. He wanted them to be the team that brought him down. But the whole operation should have been handled better, though Hutch couldn't see how. They'd planned it carefully. They all knew what they were doing. Starsky had gone undercover before....

That was it, he supposed. Starsky wasn't undercover. He was using his own name. Cragg might be coming to Starsky's apartment. He felt exposed, even though Starsky was okay with it. But Starsky seemed to worry about the wrong things. Unimportant things, like his precious Torino. Get-rich-quick schemes. Money. This was all on the surface, of course. Inside, deep in his soul, he shared Hutch's core values. But he really believed that if they acted macho enough, looked macho enough, they could fool everyone, all of the time. Starsky thought a black leather jacket and a tough attitude equalled total heterosexuality in the eyes of the world. Starsky said so far it had worked. Hutch thought so far they'd been lucky. Starsky would say....

Starsky was taking a hell of a long time getting a few boxes from the Torino.

Starsky should have been back by now. How long could it take? Hutch couldn't go out to check, and that was one of the flies in the ointment. What use was a bodyguard who couldn't appear in public with the person he was guarding, without spoiling the sting? The Feds had been right to argue that, but Hutch hadn't trusted anyone else to protect his partner. And they'd set it up carefully. Hutch had watched until Starsky left Cragg's building and started to drive away. He'd come here to Starsky's apartment, and Starsky had joined him on time. They were going to wait in the apartment for Cragg to show up, Hutch hiding in the bathroom. That had been the plan. Whatever was Starsky up to?

Hutch paced up and down for several minutes, until it became obvious that Starsky had not merely stopped to chat with one of the locals. He knew Hutch was waiting for him.

Hutch opened the apartment door carefully. The hallway was empty. He closed the door behind him, and slipped down the hall toward the back door. The parking lot was empty too, of all but a few cars. The Torino was parked out front, Hutch supposed. He walked around the building, keeping an eye out for Cragg, or Starsky, or one of the Feds on lookout. No one. Finally, he peeked around the side of the building.

The Torino waited there. Abandoned. The trunk wide open. One of Starsky's boxes on the sidewalk. Hutch looked around wildly, for any sign of Starsky, of their prey, of the FBI. No one.

Abandoning all caution, Hutch headed for the Torino. It was closer than his own car, and Hutch didn't care about appearances now. He leaned in and grabbed the radio mike.

'Metro? This is Zebra Three. Come in, Metro. This is Zebra Three.... Patch me through to Dobey, would you?'

He glared up and down the street as he waited for Dobey to answer. Yes. No sign of the Feds, no sign of Cragg's car.

'Zebra Three? That you, Hutch?'

'Captain Dobey? What's going on? Starsky has disappeared. So has the FBI. They promised to keep me in the loop.'

'I'm not in the loop myself, Hutch,' said Dobey.

'That's great. That's just great. I'm supposed to be watching Starsky's back. He left the apartment before I could stop him, and hasn't been seen since. What the Hell am I supposed to do?'

'Calm down, Hutch. The Feds are keeping an eye on him, too.'

'Yeah, and they've done a great job,' said Hutch.

'Hang on. We just got word. Cragg is driving Starsky back to his office building, it seems. You know the address.'

'I'm on my way there now, Captain. I'm in Starsky's car. Keep me posted.'

Cragg's office? Dr. Cragg was taking Starsky to his office? What was up there? Did he merely intend to carry on with the therapy, or were his intentions more... lethal?

In the meantime, the situation was out of his control. They'd lost the script, and Hutch didn't like that one bit.

 

*****************

 

The FBI car was parked across the street from Cragg's office building. Hutch drove around the corner, parked the Torino well out of sight, and casually ambled up to the dark blue coupe. Wyman was sitting inside, watching the building. It seemed he had noted Hutch's arrival, though, for he didn't react when Hutch opened the car door, and climbed in.

'Having a nice day?' asked Hutch.

'No,' said Wyman.

'Good, because neither am I,' said Hutch. 'Give me one good reason why I shouldn't shoot you both.'

'We're the FBI,' said Wyman.

'I asked for a good reason not to shoot you. That's a reason to put you out of your misery.'

'You're right,' said Wyman. 'We're Feebs. We're scum. Can we get on with it? Carruthers is inside, tracking down your partner....'

'You mean you don't know where he is?' asked Hutch, in his softest voice.

Wyman wasn't fooled by Hutch's softest voice. He turned, and gave Hutch his fullest attention for a moment. 'We know where he is. He's in the building. Carruthers is following.'

'There are -- what? -- twenty floors? Unless Carruthers was right on their heels -- and of course he wasn't -- we don't know what office they're in. Do we even know what floor they're on?'

Wyman's walkie-talkie squawked. 'Yeah?' he spoke into it.

'Haven't found them yet,' said the voice on the other end.

'Great. But I do have the partner in the car. Breathing fire.'

'Tell him to douse it....' Carruthers started, but Hutch grabbed the walkie-talkie from Wyman's hand.

'I'm giving you two minutes to find my partner, or I'm coming in myself,' said Hutch, ignoring Wyman's outraged expression.

Wyman grabbed the walkie-talkie back, and told Carruthers, 'Carry on. I've got it under control.'

'The hell you do,' said Hutch. 'You have no idea what might be going on in that building.'

'Look, Hutchinson, I know how you feel, but....'

'You don't know how I feel. You have no idea how I feel. But that's not the point. This isn't about how I feel.'

'No, it's about catching a murderer. You're a cop. Your partner is a cop. He agreed to this.'

'Starsky is alone in there, with a serial killer. A man who has murdered several other men, at least. How did that happen? Explain it to me, in the next ninety seconds.'

'You're not going in there, Detective.'

'Shut up and explain it to me,' Hutch snarled.

'Dr Cragg came up to Starsky. They exchanged a few words, and Starsky walked back to the doctor's car with him. They got in, and drove away. We followed. They drove here.'

'They didn't drive here. Cragg drove Starsky here. How did that happen?'

'We couldn't stop them, Detective. Starsky is the operative. He's doing his job. We're just monitoring the situation.'

'Yeah, and I'm Starsky's bodyguard,' Hutch pointed out. He opened the car door.

'Where do you think you're going?' asked Wyman, furiously.

'Starsky's doing his job. You're doing your job. Now, I get to do mine.'

'You can't go in there. I told you. Carruthers....'

'Carruthers is monitoring the situation. I got that. Starsky is in there alone with a serial killer. That's not the sort of situation you monitor. It wasn't supposed to be like this. How many times do I have to say it?'

'How many times do I have to say you can't go in there, Hutchinson?'

'As often as you like,' said Hutch. 'Just don't try and stop me. I'm part of this team, and now I'm playing my part. You go on monitoring.' Hutch closed the car door, and started into the building. They'd wasted enough time, he thought.

Starsky wasn't that easy to kill. But what was really going on here? How did Cragg persuade Starsky to get into the car with him in the first place? Hutch ran through everything he knew, as he walked calmly up the path to the front doors. Starsky had been in Dr Cragg's office longer than had been planned. He'd been jumpy when he left, merely exchanging a few words with Hutch before heading for the Torino. Later, he'd been thirsty, acting a bit hyper. He hadn't seemed to want to talk about Cragg. "Every time I thought I broke free, he threw another coil around me." What did that mean?

How did Cragg persuade Starsky to come back here with him? Drugs? The power of suggestion? A psychiatrist would have access to both. Starsky wasn't that easy to push around, but what if he were drugged? Hypnotised?

Hutch pushed open the front doors to the office tower, and headed for the elevator. Fourth floor. Dr Cragg's office. The doors were locked. The sign said that office hours were from 8AM to 4PM. It was after 5PM, but they must be in there. He couldn't legally break in without a warrant, but since when had that mattered when Starsky's life was at stake? He started to jimmy the lock.

'Hutchinson! They're not in there. I checked.' Carruthers was hurrying down the hall toward him.

'You sure?'

'Of course I'm sure. Wyman told me you were inside, and I figured this was the first place you'd look. I already checked. Come on. We're wasting time.'

'They came in by the front door?' asked Hutch, as they started down the hall, back to the elevator.

'Yeah. The first floor doesn't access the basements and parking garage. If they were headed down there, they'd have gone round the back.'

'Okay. Where have you checked?'

'The first floor. This floor. Every office, and the washrooms. I've only had a few minutes.'

'Understood. I think Starsky is drugged, and that's why he came with Cragg... No, I don't know for sure, but he was acting strangely earlier. He was very thirsty. His eyes looked strange.'

'So you don't think he came willingly?'

'No. This is no friendly visit. It's the real thing.'

'Here? You think the doctor is going to kill people here? In his own building? And they're not even in his own private office, I assure you. How can he....'

'He must have a safe place in the building. Somewhere he thinks no one will find him. They may have gone down to the basement from another level. We need a building map.'

'There's one on the first floor. That's how I know you can't reach the basement from there.'

'Okay,' said Hutch. They were riding down the elevator. 'Call your partner. Tell him to request backup. Get Dobey here. I'll check out the map.' The elevator doors opened. A Black man was mopping the floors. A janitor, or an accomplice? Hutch slammed him up against one of the walls, and pulled out his badge. 'LAPD!' he snapped. 'Who are you?'

'Uh... uh... I'm Daryl Osborne. I'm the janitor. That's all, officer.'

'Stay where you are. Don't move. Put down the mop, slowly. Listen to me. You know Dr. Cragg?'

'Yeah. Not well. Not real close. He's a doctor, I'm just....'

'Just a janitor, I know. But you see things, right? Have you seen him today?'

'Yeah. He left here about... half an hour ago. That's when he goes home. Haven't seen him since.'

'Where's the building map? Show me. Don't get out of my sight, and do whatever I say. Got that?'

'Sure, officer. It's right here by the elevator. What's going on?'

'Never mind. Just do what you're told. Answer my questions. How do you access the basement and parking garage from here?'

'You can't. This is just the lobby. It only has access to the elevators to the higher floors.'

'That's odd, isn't it?'

'It's for security, they tell me. There are separate elevators for parking and for the basement.'

'Okay. Carruthers! Look. They could have gone up to the second floor and gotten another elevator down to the basement. But why? Why not just drive around the back? Get in that way?'

'Makes no sense, I grant you,' said Carruthers. 'Wyman tells me the troops are on their way.'

'Good. In the meantime... What's this?'

'What's what?' asked Carruthers.

'I wasn't talking to you,' said Hutch. 'Mr. Osborne. What's this? It says "Surgery". There's a surgery here, on the second floor?'

'Yes. One of our doctors is a surgeon. He does minor operations, nothing big or....'

'That's where he is,' said Hutch. 'Give me your pass key. Now… This the one? Thanks.' He pushed the button for the elevator. The doors didn't open right away. The little overhead lights informed him the elevator was on the fifth floor. Damn! But the stairwell was too far away. It was still faster to wait here. 'Carruthers, keep an eye on Osborne. Don't let him out of your sight. I'm heading up there.'

'When did you take over this operation, Hutchinson?'

'When Cragg flew in under your radar,' said Hutch. 'Cragg knows you. He knows you suspect him. He doesn't know anything real about me. He thinks I'm a homophobic asshole.' The elevator door opened, and Hutch got in, Carruthers still protesting he was the one in charge. Hutch pushed the second floor button, and the doors closed. Way too slowly, he thought. A surgery? Drugs. Scalpels. Drains for all the blood? Jesus Christ!

 

*****************

 

The pattern in Dr Cragg's carpet. He knew what it was now. Barbed wire. Faces staring through barbed wire, eyes empty and lonely and hurting. Hands. Hands dripping with blood as they reached through barbed wire, just to feel, for one moment, they were outside.

Starsky knew this now -- about the carpet -- because of the pain. He couldn't actually see the carpet. The carpet was back in Cragg's office, and Starsky was somewhere else. Somewhere white. And red. And silent. And full of screams. He was somewhere else. But somewhere he knew about the carpet and the barbed wire. From somewhere. From the pain.

The pain came from having the layers stripped away. The layers of his mind. His mind was like an onion, layer after layer, and as the pain came, as his blood flowed, it released a layer. Every cut, every drop of blood, released a new layer of his mind.

The pain had started, oddly enough, in Dr Cragg's office. It was odd, because there had been no blood. Only pain. He could feel the pain, the layers of his mind loosening and lifting, and it had been so odd. How could he describe it to Hutch? He'd wanted to tell Hutch, but something had stopped him. What? The knowledge that Hutch wouldn't understand, that he wouldn't know about the barbed wire, because he hadn't studied it?

He should have told Hutch, he knew that now. Dr Cragg's office had been so dusty, and he'd been so thirsty, and he'd... Cragg had offered him a drink of water from his cooler, and he shouldn't have. He knew that now. He knew a lot, now, as layer after layer of his mind opened up. With every drop of blood.

He should have stayed in the apartment with Hutch, but he was a big boy, he could take care of himself. It was all nonsense, what Cragg said, when Starsky told him he was gay, and proud of it. It was all nonsense about him feeling less than a man, and wanting Hutch to loan him his masculinity. That had galled him. Galled him. Gall. That was a good word. Hutch had taught him that word. Along with a few others. But he'd taught Hutch a thing or two. More than one thing. He'd taught. Taught.

Cragg had come up to him at the car, and he was dizzy, and Cragg had said something, and touched him and he'd felt a sharp. Something sharp and now everything. Everything was sharp and white, and red and full of screams.

But he couldn't make a sound to save his life, which was too bad. Hutch was out there waiting for him, and would he come home? In one piece?

"What did he use on this one? A can opener?" That was Hutch. Good sense of humour. Works well with others.

'Hutch,' he tried to whisper. Tried to scream. But his throat was so dry. He was so thirsty.

And there was the blood.

 

***************

 

The elevator door opened on the second floor, and Hutch burst out. To the left. Three doors down, right side of the hall. Dr. M. Windersley. Surgeon. The pass key slid into the lock. The wards turned. The door opened. Opened onto a waiting area. Chairs. Coffee tables. Six year old magazines, dog-eared and coffee-stained. Ash trays. Lamp stands. Straight ahead, another room. A door marked 'Private'. Was it locked? No. Hutch pushed open this door, and it opened on Hell.

A slender naked body, strapped to an operating table. Blood running in rivulets down the soft skin. Running down onto the cement floor. Down the drains. Down into the sewers. Dr Cragg standing over the naked body, scalpel raised. Dr. Cragg looking up, surprised, with the scalpel still in his hand. Sharp. Dangerous. Poised over Starsky's naked helpless body.

'Oh, there you are,' said Hutch, with a smile. 'I've been looking all over for you. You have Starsky? Good. Need any help?'

'Don't come any closer,' Cragg warned. 'I'll kill him.'

'That's okay,' said Hutch, feigning puzzlement. 'I'm here to help you. It's what he deserves, isn't it?'

'Yes,' said Cragg, slowly. 'I'm cutting it out of him. The thing that makes him queer.'

'Do you know how to find it?' asked Hutch.

'Oh, yes,' said Cragg. 'I've found it before. I know just where to look. They're better off without it.'

'Show me,' said Hutch. He came closer, not too quickly, watching Cragg admiringly. 'Show me,' he said again.

Cragg raised the scalpel again, as if to cut.

'There's too much blood,' Hutch said quickly. 'I'm not a surgeon. I can't see through all the blood. Just point it out.'

Cragg looked down at the body. There was a lot of blood. He put the scalpel down, and picked up a sponge.

Hutch had never been a gymnast or a dancer, and couldn't have explained how he moved quite that way. How he made it over the prone body of his love without touching it or hurting it, or how he managed to get his hands around Cragg's throat. He knew he was screaming for Carruthers and Wyman, and Dobey most of all. Cragg was fighting him, fighting for his life, as if he knew Hutch was truly fighting to the death. Their fight knocked over a tray of surgical implements, and Cragg closed his hands over another scalpel. Cragg was on top of Hutch, the scalpel flicking down, again and again.

The backup should be here soon. It should be here now, thought Hutch. The knife kept flicking, sometimes connecting, sometimes not. Hutch tried to push Cragg away, tried to free himself. "But every time I thought I broke free, he threw another coil over me." Cragg had the strength of the truly insane.

'Hutch?' Starsky moaned. His arm waved in the air. He was trying to free himself. 'Hutch? You okay?' Starsky was trying to come to his aid. And his blood was running off the table. Rivers of blood. If help didn't come soon, Starsky would bleed to death. From somewhere, hidden under a layer of his mind, Hutch found a source of insanity as powerful as the doctor's. He slammed the palm of his hand into the doctor's face, against his nose, as hard as he could, and heard something snap.

The door opened. The room was suddenly full of police officers.

'Starsky!' Hutch screamed. 'Help Starsky. He's bleeding to death.' He struggled to his feet. The floor moved like a roller coaster, but he made it to Starsky's side.

'Hutch?' Starsky whispered, again. 'You okay?'

'I'm fine,' said Hutch. 'Dobey's here. The ambulance is coming. Hang on.'

'Yes,' said Starsky, and he closed his eyes.

Hutch allowed himself to sink to his knees.

 

*************

There was a cool hand on his forehead.

'Starsky?' said Hutch.

'No,' said a soft, feminine voice. 'It's only me.'

'Angie? What are you doing here?' Hutch forced his eyes open. Angie was sitting in the chair beside his bed. He looked around the room. Where was here, anyway? Here was a hospital emergency ward, it seemed. He was lying in a hospital bed, in a curtained alcove. His hands were bandaged. His face hurt and it felt stiff, as if it had been anaesthetized and sutured.

He glanced back at Angie. She had a bit of a hurt look on her face. 'Sorry,' he said. 'I'm groggy. I don't know what I'm saying.'

'That's okay,' she said. 'I understand. Want me to ask the nurses about David?'

Hutch couldn't speak. Far too much of Starsky's blood had been on the floor in that surgery, and not enough where it belonged. He remembered that now. Remembered everything. Hutch couldn't speak.

'I'll go ask the nurses,' said Angie. 'I'm here because I care about you, Ken. I told the nurses I was your girlfriend. It's not really true, is it? But it's okay. I'm not mad.' She left before Hutch could answer.

Angie was gone for some time. Hutch tried to sit up. A nurse appeared by his bedside.

'Detective Hutchinson. Please don't try to move.'

'I'm okay,' he said. 'Just a bit groggy. I'm not badly injured.'

'No, you're not. The wounds were superficial, but you lost a lot of blood, and you passed out, briefly. You've had an anaesthetic, and you are here under observation. You won't be going home tonight.'

'Of course I'm not going home,' said Hutch, in an insulted tone of voice. 'I need to see my partner.'

'She's just down the hall,' said the nurse. 'She's talking to your Captain Dobey about something.'

'Not Angie. I need to see my partner. David Starsky. Where is he? How... how is he doing?'

'That's private information. You're not a family member.'

'I'm his partner. I'm listed as his next of kin to call in an emergency,' Hutch insisted. 'I have power of attorney. I need to see him.' He tried to swing his legs over the side of the bed.

'Detective Hutchinson, please. You're not in any condition to get out of bed. Please try to relax.'

'What aren't you telling me? I told you, I'm his partner. I have the right to know.'

Captain Dobey walked in, Angie at his side.

'What's going on, Hutch? Giving the nurses a bad time?'

'No, Captain. I need to see Starsky. Is he... where is he? He's not.....'

'He's still in the OR, Hutch. He's out of immediate danger, they tell me.'

Hutch closed his eyes, and breathed quietly for a moment. 'That's more than they're telling me,' he said.

'You were being sewn up yourself,' said Dobey. 'You passed out.'

'Yeah, they told me that,' said Hutch. 'A few scratches on my hands. My face. They're nothing. Is Starsky going to live?'

'He'll live, Hutch.'

'But?'

'But I'm not a doctor. We should wait and see what his doctor says. Let's not speculate. He's alive, that's all that matters.'

'Yes,' said Hutch. 'That's all that matters.'

Dobey patted him on the shoulder, and with a wink, left him alone with Angie.

'That is all that matters to you right now, isn't it? David Starsky is alive.'

'Angie....'

'It's okay, Ken. I'm not angry. Captain Dobey told me that when David moved in with you, it was all part of a police action. You were undercover, and not really living together. I guess he thought I'd be worried you were gay, or something. I'm a big girl, and I wasn't looking for a deathless romance with you. I was looking for fun sex, and you didn't disappoint me. And I like you, a lot. You're a doll. You never said you loved me. You didn't promise me anything. You didn't lie to me.'

'Did you want me to?' asked Hutch.

'Maybe. Once or twice. I suppose I'm protesting too vehemently, aren't I? I have to say that some day, I want a man to love me like you love David Starsky. But you're not that man, and I never thought you were. Does he know?'

'Yes,' said Hutch, simply.

'So, it wasn't just a police action.'

'No,' said Hutch.

Angie took his hand. 'Are you going to come out?' she asked.

'I don't know,' said Hutch. 'We haven't decided anything. And anything in the future depends on... Starsky was badly hurt just last year, and now this.'

'I know. But he's tough. He's a survivor. Don't worry. And I'm your friend, whatever you decide. You know that, don't you?'

'Do I know that?' asked Hutch. 'Are you?'

'Yes,' said Angie. 'I wouldn't be here, if I wasn't your friend.'

********************

'Starsky?'

David Starsky opened his deep blue eyes. 'Hey,' he whispered.

'Hey, yourself,' said Hutch.

'You been waiting here long?'

'Nah,' said Hutch. 'And I don't come here often,' he added.

'Like Hell you don't,' said Starsky. 'Didn't we just do this, a year ago?'

'Yeah, we did,' said Hutch. 'But I'll go on doing it, as often as you like.'

'I don't like,' said Starsky. 'Hutch. I don't know this time. I don't think I'm gonna make it.'

'What! Whad'ya talking about. You're gonna make it. You're out of danger. The doctors all say....'

'Oh, that. Of course. Hutch, I'm not gonna die on you. I swear. Not now, anyway. But I'm not gonna make it back. I'm not gonna be your partner.'

'You'll always be my partner, Starsky. Always. No matter what.'

'That's nice,' said Starsky. 'That's very reassuring. Hutch, they aren't telling me much, but I could tell. When he was carving me up.'

'Starsky.'

'Listen. Okay. Just listen. That knife, it was cutting things up that shouldn't be cut up. Cutting things out. Hutch, did he cut out anything vital? You know what I mean. I haven't had a chance to look. Is it all still there?'

'Is what all still there, Starsky?'

'Hutch, quit teasing me. It must all be still there, or you wouldn't be teasing me, would you?'

'No, I wouldn't be teasing you in that case. He left your dick and balls intact. I think. Let me check.' Hutch lifted the covers, surreptitiously, and checked. Everything seemed intact. 'Yeah, it's all there,' he said.

'Whew. That's a relief,' Starsky whispered.

'You'll live, if you can worry about your dick,' Hutch pointed out.

'Of course I'm worried about my dick,' said Starsky. 'I use it for a lot of things.'

'Steering your car. Licking stamps. Typing....'

'Yeah. All them things, and more. Listen, Hutch. You aren't feeling guilty are you? Cause if you are, I gotta tell you. It's not your fault. I wasn't careful enough. I was sure I could handle him.'

'And you did. We took him down.'

'You took him down,' said Starsky.

'We took him down,' Hutch insisted. 'We found enough evidence to convict him, because of you. We took him down.'

'It's a good note to go out on,' said Starsky.

'Don't worry about that right now, Starsk. Just get better. I took your stuff back to my place.'

'My stuff?'

'Yeah, the stuff. That night. The magazines and old clothes. Remember?'

'Oh. That stuff. That wasn't important, Hutch.'

'Yes, it was. It was symbolic. Like you were moving back out on me. I took it back.'

'I see. You want me to live with you.'

'If you want to. You don't have to. We don't have to live at my place.'

'We can do whatever we want,' said Starsky. 'I think we can. It all depends on how much he cut out of me. Nerve damage. The doctors said something about nerve damage. They got that far before they patted me on the head, and told me to be a good boy. And he cut you up, too. I can see that now. You gonna have scars?'

'Probably,' said Hutch. 'We both have scars, and plenty of them. But I'm ready to quit with the lies, if you are.'

'You saying it's worth it?' asked Starsky. 'You think the scars are worth it, if we quit with the lies?'

'That's what I'm saying.'

Starsky smiled, and closed his eyes. 'Then it was all worth it,' he said.

 

***The End***


End file.
